The dark of the moon shines upon my soul
From whence does this unearthly light arrive?
Bathing my sight with ephemeral images
That lock upon me with grips of stone
Is it carried down in the hands of angels,
Or shed in the wake of a comet?
Is it the answer to the universe,
Or is it only the beginning, and never to be completed?
It defies definition
No measure of speech can suffice as description
Yet from the ache in my heart,
It can be only one thing
Never was a word so deceptively simple
As the one that torments me so
I shall not speak it, such profanity would that be
‘gainst the dark moon’s light