Moon Madness

If God has a face it is yours,

visible only to the dreamers and the night watchmen,

cloaked in your veil of stars with the strings of destiny in your arms -

is it madness to think of you as a friend?

Does the weight of your form in the ether between here and heaven,

shift the seas in my skull?

Is this sickness a blessing, in the end?

My aching knees demand an answer - I am here, as always,

a sleepless supplicant with nowhere else to go,

moonstruck by the horror and the glory of the further plains beyond your silent in-between.

Your liminal, your silk thin bed of void where new worlds die before our failing eyes can see them.

Are you there?

Or has the time slipped away like smoke -

Can you hear me?

I choose to believe you are smiling, that the strings can be plucked...

That there are conversations to be had,

being had above my bowed head.

If all spirals lead to you, my friend, you cannot be truly dead.

****

Authors Note:

Some scholars believe that the moon would have played a huge part in the culture of ancient Scotland. I say believe because the evidence of the shared or mirrored nature of many ancient cultures makes it very likely, but written and material sources are often thin on the ground.

For many ancient people, the heavens would have been one of the faces of their many Gods; I don't believe we've changed all that much.

As a side note - this challenge allowed me to use a fun term; moonstruck. A 17th century term generally taken to mean that someone has lost their ability to think or act normally, most often as a result of infatuation or love.