Light and Lustre

The moon and its lustre, taking me
towards its engravings and its craters
which seem to dance to the sun’s light
and cast a mitigatory shadow on itself.
Why has the moon turned its back?
Will the moon not dance to the music
of the earth and the earthlings that
exchange blows amidst bleating laughter?
I know the moon has not been itself
lately, and the music is now fading
towards the demented star, the sun.

Do not block the sun, a voice so deep
it could pierce the light between the
hunters of the moon and the sun.
The hunters have been setting up
what seems to be a rusty old snapping
device, that could not cut into wood.
But what of that, moon and sun?
Stop your eternal dance, and rumble
before the weak wights of earth start
worshipping your sorrow face.

 

Magic is not the hunter’s skill,
and the hunter shalt seek thy gun
to terminate thy apathy and thine
own light, to live and prosper.
Magic, shall not be purloined.
The light, shall be sought for free.
But the moon does not hear, and
the sun does not stop to sear.
their reign is supreme, and the fear,
is real that it survives in the dark.
Magic, lived and prospered.