A Reflection of me
To be so loved and yet still to be so scarred. Does your reflection scare you?
Being once so strong and mighty that you were able to support life, to know be just a fragment as you look onward and see what you once where. But I still think you're beautiful just as much now too.
To be so supportive and yet never seeking forgiveness. Does the future scare you?
Knowing that the inevitable can be hastened or slowed with the touch of another, but staying so distant that the last touch you felt was from a man who only wished to conquer you. The feeling so imprinted upon you that it's scar now physical and visible to those looking. But I respect and love the distance you have built, because I know the beauty you must see each cycle.
To be so surrounded, but the isolation only begins to show in the most populace of spaces. Do others scare you?
Surrounding you, the flashes of photos showing only a memory long past it's expiration, yet full of mystery and the possible and the impossible. But those memories only last so long, and eventually the flickering starts to take shape, leaving the void you sit in further and further. I know your truth though. The lies and hidden entropic bases that are filled with the perverse paranoia of misinformation and hate. I know you have been the symbol of hate. A hate that you only know from being on its receiving end, but yet still you stand there. And still you see the spinning of a home you once called yourself.
Do you know your name?
It's a simple one, it's also a complicated one. It's one given to you, and given to you, and given to you, but not once did they ask you for it. You're told to be called the messenger in the sky that helps guides the lost into the dawn of a new day, but only if those understanding and knowing seek to leave you behind. Maybe it's presumptuous of me to make all the assumptions, and not even once myself ask your name. If you were to reply, I wonder, would you be called Blue? New? Harvest? Blood? Luna?
Luna, that's been one I've found to hold the most beauty in it. I don't see you as New, or a half. I don't see you as full or blue. I see you for you, for you see me as me. But, Luna, what I see in you most is the connections and bonds of those around.
You're there. Always for as long as I can remember, and even before then. And as you sit high above in your throne of stars, you must now how when I, or he, or she, or they, and yes, even Him, the man who's face I can only see thanks to your help. The man who walks free and isn't known to the world you use to belong to. But you know his face, and I do too, thanks to you.
And when I look into the embrace above that you try and try and try to give, again never asking for forgiveness, I am able to reach out, just as they are all able to reach out, and maybe you can hold our hands, so we can feel the connected warmth once more.
