Black Moon

Black Moon


A black moon drifts within an endless sky
and somebody is watching.
Somebody is looking up at that moon barely catching a trace of it,
perhaps wondering what finally killed the famous “Man.”

The “Man” in the moon committed suicide
and somebody was watching.
Someone saw it happen
and that is how said moon became black.

Reflect back on a time with a moon that used to be
and perhaps is somewhere in some other dimension
or perhaps in some other place in time,
at least as we know it or think we know it
when there was reason to keep on going.

Gentle steps pad the carpet at your feet.
“Mommy? Was the moon always black?”
“No silly,” you reply to her hearing insane laughter
echoing deep inside your head.
Because, after all, we are all only partially sane, right?
According to judgment.

Now the moon has become a black moon.
A dying moon.
Maybe already a dead moon entirely.

But that “Man” in the moon,
is he still there?
A body anyway still decomposing
or decomposed at all?
After all, it is very cold  in space.
Or maybe he never really was
or never had a chance to be.

Look out at the moon now if you can see it.
Full or new. Black. Maybe you can catch a trace of it.
Surely it cannot be black forever.
It will shine again, right?

Those gentle steps padding the carpet
are of what might have been
or could have been or could be still.
Or do they haunt an acidic mind?

--msl2024