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
Poem from Patreon