Look at her.
Her cold, bony face.
Staring down at the,
Mostly insignificant,
Beings on earth.

Our daily toils and troubles,
So much dust in her timeless gaze.

Our tears and sorrows.
As nothing in her endlessness.

Every month, without fail,
she shows herself.

And us? The ones looking upon her?
We strive to change.
We desire a difference.

Alas. Always, only ever the same.
As changeless as the moon,
so are our insignificant lives…

14 comments on “Moon

  1. Great piece of poetry. Sometimes I wonder if it’s actually worth living life since we’re all so insignificant and the world will go on as normal without us

    • Thanks chickpea.
      As for if life is worth living – what the hell else are we going to do?
      Might as well go where it leads you – beats boredom 🙂

  2. Nicely done, J! Our significance is held in what we do in the short time we have. The moon? Huh – liked to see what she’d come up with if she had only about 70 years…. 🙂

    • That’s just it P. She has way more than 70 years.
      But she does not have to earn a living, or try to make sense of life – she’s unchangeable, constant, regular…

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