Moon Cry

and, my god, if the stars shine tonight,
then my mind will scream your name till its engraved into the back of my eyelids.
then,
i will forever see your face,
even when i cry not to.
the sun grew out of love, and the poor moon grew sad, dying;
she was no longer the light that danced to her lover,
she was wasn't the warmth that he wanted anymore.
even if she was cold as ice, she still had tried.
and if, by golly, the knowing though that what could have been will never be a could be,
then i m glad to wish to not have known you.