A Moon, Imperfect

Walking in the damp evening air,

Stillness surrounded me,

my eyes were drawn upwards,

And soon I was entranced


The moon hung low,

Not yet full, wan and waiting,

A few nights more until her beauty would be celebrated,

Patiently she occupied her rightful place


I stood mesmerised and was reminded,

There is power in that which is imperfect

That which is not whole can still command

She was incomplete, yet not unworthy


As I walked on, her light illuminated my path,

A queen in all phases

Assured of her strength,

Sometimes invisible, other times impossible to ignore.


She stirred me that night,

She who controls the very tide,

Moved to awaken a single wretched soul

I felt at one with her, peaceful in my seeking.