The moon is beautiful, a silver ghost in the deep of night, Casting soft, pale shadows where the world loses its light. It hangs in the velvet expanse, ancient, steady, and vast, Holding the quiet echoes of everything that has passed. We look up in wonder at its craters and cold, dusty grace, Finding a mirror for our own hearts in that lonely, hollow place. It pulls at the tides and the longings we keep tucked away, A serene, silent promise that the dark will eventually yield to the day.