There in the living wood,
I found the moon,
and she gave herself to me.

She is mine,
though not to be owned.
Sitting high in the heavens,
radiating her grace for all to love.
Though still all the more mine.

All I knew was emptiness,
knowing of nothing,
blind to my existence.
Never seeing color.
Never seeing white, nor black.

Then,
there in the heavens,
there she hung,
the newborn moon.
Born to an endless darkness,
my world was given contrast.
Where once there was nothing
now lay mysterious shadows,
hinting at distant memories.
Her beauty crisp and clear,
merely a sliver,
a faint whisper,
a hint of her full glory,
yet glowing brightly.

She taught me.
Taught me shapes, lines, form.
Taught me light and dark.
She gave me a world beyond myself.
Gave me a reason to open my eyes.
A reason to be alive.

But her radiance grew,
and the stars themselves did envy her.
Yet she gave of herself freely,
turning envy to love.
So that they did dance,
the stars with the moon,
happily overhead,
for all to see.

And as blissful love shined down,
a pale blue earth was brought to my eyes,
giving my world substance.
Once all that was real hung distantly out of reach,
yet now it surrounds me,
giving me purpose,
revealing the depth of my kingdom.

In every crack there I find her,
reminding me she will always be there,
always sharing herself,
always lighting my path,
never letting go.

And though her light may wane,
it is never extinguished.
For all I need do is look to her,
and she will wax full again.

I no longer fear the night,
because the moon is mine.