Moon

I am caught in a deathly spiral, my face always turned to the world. Pockmarked and dusty, bearing no trace of life. Alone I turn, through darkness into darkness.But sometimes, I catch the light. I borrow beams too bright to be bourne, and light is cast into dark. In spite of myself I shine. But I feel all the more keenly that I have no light of my own and lack even the tenacity to reflect sunlight consistently. I yearn to hide my ugliness, the gouges in my skin. I bury my face in the world and fade into the black. And so I am again but a scarred stone swinging through space. I tug fruitlessly at the distant seas, trying to pull them over my head as I wait for the everlasting dawn when I will be overwhelmed with ubiquitous light, transcended and rendered obsolete as a means of luminescence. Surrendering my post, I will bask in endless Day.



(And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light will the nations walk.
Rev 21:23-24)