When the Moon Speaks

 by shaun lawton

                                                 for Brian Eno 

When the moon whispers dust falls 

  like a million snow flakes 

When the moon sighs the wind slips by 

  When the moon laughs a storm

  churns up in remote regions 

and when the moon whimpers

   a legion of cicadas echoes the call 

 

When the moon falls like the final teardrop

  When the moon stalls and blushes before a kiss

 the moon will rush toward all of us 

  with an enveloping shadow eclipse 

 like the sudden moment each night 

  that goes by unrealized when we shut our eyes 

just before sliding into a dream 

   The moon is always what it seems 

    The moon's full to burst with cunning 

   In its repetitive wake we're lulled to sleep

  even while the rhythmic tides are pulled

 toward us as it circles our planet like a wolf

  and mother, the moon shines at night 

   as one of the sisters of mercy running 

the moon can become a rapturous sight 

  infecting the minds of the clergy 

 as readily as the dispositions of the depraved

  The moon is harvesting energy 

  The moon doesn't care if we're lost or saved

  as far as its concerned it wants to keep us moving

 The moon is my shepherd, I shall not want 

   It makes me feel so high, through meadows green

 The moon leads me through the silenced waters by

  With a frightful spin it helps release my soul 

 and taketh me upon its wings to many places 

  The moon converts me to a believer 

 For lo, the moon hath great power

  and an even greater hunger to feed

  upon the fields of human plankton 

 in silent reflection and steady dedication

  

  The moon will rise up as surely as the Sun

   reflected in our eyes when the day is done 

  The moon likes to go sailing out at night 

  or on a breezy afternoon with the starlight shining

 all the while the moon acts as a shield 

  for the forged and tempered sword 

   of the technology humans wield 

 

The moon's a corporate logo 

   etched with tribal scarification 

 The moon's a beautiful tattoo 

  upon the face of all creation  

 an anomaly embedded on the velvet sky of night

 The moon has become wedded to our sight

 A colossal source of mystery with a hidden secret 

  kept from its legion of novitiates 

 

The moon's unknown mystique can be heard

  whenever the word becomes unraveled

 in our ears as a lonely siren song 

 The moon appears to take too long 

to reach its goal and claim our souls

  The moon is never wrong

 It purifies the sky as it goes

  Skimming the exosphere with an aurora

 dragging sparks like a fingernail 

  scratching on a coffin lid

lighting up the darkness 

 hiding its enigma in compartments

   Every so often the moon appears to be

 here to stay, an anchor to our symmetry 

The moon rolls away from us to the other side

  Behind the clouds it wears a veil 

  as in the ceremony of a bride 

 walking closer to the altar to make

her sacrifice, the moon can be cruel 

 and seduce you with its shimmering

 The moon can be alluring and vicious

  Goading one on to become more suspicious

 that it's an agent of oblivion, a delegate of fear

 appearing every night, week, month and year

The moon can be a beggar or as regal as a king

  Just think of all the artistry the moon can bring

while it hovers just beyond our reach so near

Into the distance mysteriously it disappears

because the moon itself is so very far away

sitting on the highest shelf both night and day 

The moon becomes a paragon of loss

  and newfound discoveries more ancient than moss

The moon cannot be rhymed with itself 

 nor can it ever be truly seen in a mirror

 The moon becomes a vampire once a month 

  inspiring careless love and terror

   As it feeds upon Lilith's opulent blossoms 

 The moon becomes motherfucking awesome 

Clearly, enough cannot be said about the moon

 It's gravity acts as a permanent spell

on our waking consciousness for better or ill

The moon may be an omen to some now and then

and a blessing to others, it just depends 

 The moon may have been crafted with artful concern

or the moon may just be a monumental urn

filled with the ashes of generations of the dead

 laid to rest upon its surface over the ages 

we've been led to get swept up by the wind

to wither and turn into so much dust

and detritus that merges with the mulch as we must

The moon may as well be the monarch of earth

  to transform back into a worm in reverse 

The moon ain't nothing to fuck with

  as it sails into the blackness of night

The moon seems to simply be waiting

  eventually to be reclaimed by the light 

The moon becomes a stark reminder 

  that the clock is always ticking

You may look and never find her

  behind our back the moon is tricky

 playing a game of hide and seek

The moon can give us strength

  The moon remains an icon

    The moon must stay true

      The moon will rise and fall

       The moon is chasing after you.