The Moon

You were like the moon, cold and silver,
Predictable yet wild and temperamental.
A power that pushed and pulled,
A love that waxed and waned with indecision.
A bright light that glowed with temporary affection,
And utter darkness on nights when deepest silence prevailed.
I loved the moon, when in full it offered its feigned stability.
When dark clouds rolled, still I trusted its bright face.
But upon its waning: uncertainty and apprehension.
Abandonment and betrayal shook me to misguided conclusions.
Was I to blame, oh moon?
Shame and gravity shrouded me in blackness.
Your affection so quickly stolen.
"Stay," you beckoned, and I had faith your tides could calm.
I believe you were well-intended,
But you, oh dear moon, cannot help what you are.
An entity of change in its very essence.
Constant only in your constant variability.
Flexing your identity day by day.
You are like the moon.
Misgivings define you, predictable in your instability,
Unaware of your own being.
I loved you, in all your wild glory,
But a time has come for me to seek my own gentle light,
For the night is too long to be yoked to the unknown.
I cannot love you, for my heart grows weary of the tempest.

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