My eyes lift to the sky.

As the moon rose last night,
I watched its soothing glow.

I wait for it daily.
Although it never appears the same,
I am ready for the perfect moment.

When the sky has too many clouds.
I am unable to find the light.
When my moonrise is blocked,
I am sad and lose hope for the next day.

Some days, the clouds are thin.
I see their halo around the shining lunar disk.
Its laughing man breaks through the veil of clouds.

The ancient moon is always there:
a promise for the days to come.

I dream about my chance to go.

William Wayne Smith

Photo by Drew Rae: from Pexels

Poem from Patreon