Son of the Moon

Striving in the presence of the moon.
Whilst its light fades too soon.
Clocks atop the tower strike,
getting all passengers out within the hour.
So subtle the blueish white hue,
glimmers through.
A baby crawls through the night.
Seeking what never was because,
the old man and moon have no room.
Nor can they be bribed or exhumed.
Many presume however;
tears that are shed cause flooded plains;
but stopped by soot and dust-
from crowded lanes.
Levies give in and-
the filthy fowl fly away cackling,
we’ll die again another day.

Peering through a window,
A family dines together.
Tender words heard;
love exchanged affectionately.
Never shared with the stranger.
Infection creeps within the veins of-
the boy who stands outside aloof.
All the while,
looking back at the moon.

Next chapter, a few words please.
Maybe laughter, to put minds at ease.
At least to bed, but could someone-
drown the elephant in the room.
To make this relevant,
the matter at hand, prevalent.
Inside his shell shaped like a cell.
But hey; who cares these days?
If the seeds are misplaced,
swept up by a broom.
All the while,
dying in the presence of the moon.