Moonbeams
“Slowly, silently, now the moon” ~ “Silver” by Walter de la Mare
Our night the moon sends has a searching glow.
The moon, unknowing, hangs its palest light
Across our sphere but only we can know
How violent the men are here who fight
Unceasingly as every sunset brings
The darkness with its slight excuse for gleam
That does not stop the violence but sings
More loudly rising to its night-time scream.
The measures of our sin increase in dim
Light sent to us from up above. Our pains
Bloat up to agony at night. They brim
Beneath the mindless moon. They leave their stains
Behind that night light darkness since we die
More often in those hours. Moons never cry.