Looking at the Moon.

A cold empty eye, which has seen so much,
Felt so little, and heard nothing.
A blind observer of all our hatreds,
All our follies, and all our loves.

Our hopes, longings and affectations
Hurtle through the endless darkness
To gasp their last breath in the  grey loneliness
Of a lump of rock spinning in space.

Your inexhaustible appetite for the momentary drama
Of our little lives swallows up our thoughts carelessly.
You have seen it all before, it doesn’t impress.
Your surface dust is made from our daydreams.

When we are all long gone you will still be there
Shining bleakly on people who think that they are nothing like us,
Waxing and waning, watching and waiting,
As the world turns and the dust deepens.


Photograph and poem copyright Pat Rogers.

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