The Moon
- Creative Writing to Inspire -

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The Moon as a Protector

Mother moon, centre of the night, light heart bold and bright, chivy-awaken your kindred stars. Send your glow, warm and soft, buttermilk from sweet heavens aloft. Send your rays to defy the dark, to guide as the lullaby of lonely souls. Let it pool at lonely feet. Let it befriend lonely skin - be it hand, face or goosebumped limb. Stay high in the velvet black, a vigil that is love’s full-stack, fully gentle, fully proud. Come as band-aid. Come as salve. Yes, mother moon, glowing bright and bold, your ancient spirit is far from old, your beautiful story yet untold. Stay, stay as Sun’s lighthouse, through invisible storms that mistake queen for mouse. 
 

The Moon as a Rebel Light

A buttermilk eye ‘twas patient aloft in bonhomie with cosiest clouds, steel-magnolia clouds that came as comforters in her long vigil. Whence otherwise the world could vanish into the grip of night, whence the light failed and withered to nought, she stayed in post and abandoned it not. Defiant. Proud. Along with her sister stars, as the merriest of rebel crowds, they were the silent rabble of the skies, partying until Sun’s scheduled reignition. To such bright renegades, black is but the best canvas, a place to create art in light, to declare that they will ne’er surrender the gift of empathic sight.

The Moon as Hope and Love

Moonlight was veil to land, stealing it from Darkness’s hand. Scorching vampires with mildest rays, halting total dark at gloam greys. As nature’s bold flashlight she shone on, quite certain that monsters are ne’er fully gone. Owl, mouse and moth loved her so, and bid her ne’er to go, yet to stay all the night full-bright unbowed in her plight to keep all safe and sound. Such was their entreaty that it morphed to gravity and held her for the ages with love’s certainty. 

The Moon as a Titan or God

The moon was a motorcycle headlamp, a rider in the night. It streamed as if on smoothest highway, it streamed as aid to natural night. Lost though it was in artificial beams, in neon glare, in unrelenting fluorescence - it was there all the same. I wondered of its rider, imagined its tyre grip, imagined its engine that must run sunny beams. Perhaps it is a titan, one of oldest lore, who has come from a far flung galaxy to ride here for an aeon or more. 

The Moon as a Titan or God

Moonlight was surfing fire-ants, electro-bright, sent as evil’s blight. As a merry tide, as an unapologetic tsunami it engulfed what had been dark. Yes, moonbeams swirled as a lit gulf stream, one that owned both oceanic air and breeze. As anti-shadow, as waves sang their soft lullaby, these rays bequeathed a golden monochrome: redrawing edges, reviving sight. It gave its ants to the sea, as water-stars for you and me.