the moon is my constant
it never appears to change
formed by collision
she fills in an unexplained manner
many a hit she secures the earth
like a mother for her young,
her untamed tresses reach with gravity
her affection and her blood
through the blows
she manages to gleam,
notwithstanding the entirety of her holes
for the Earth she couldn’t care less.
the genuine grievousness isn’t that the earth rots and kicks the bucket herself
it’s that from within the beasts torture her profoundly.
in spite of the fact that we can see the conspicuous carnage
in war
war against herself