The light of the moon is not white.
It is blue,
it is red,
it is green,
it is pied.

It dares to shine brighter than the sun,
even through the darkest nights.
Even in the pitch black sky,
even through a thick layer of clouds.

Illuminating the unusually tall grass
that someone forgot to cut,
the pink and purple flowers
dying from excessive sunlight,
the millions of kids in their beds
through their windows.

Though the stars do a pretty good job
at shining with appeal,
it is not enough to overpower
the moon’s tender glimmer.

Looking directly at its light,
but eyes are not burning,
looking at its deep craters,
but beauty is still found within.

In the unlit moments,
the moon is ablaze with fierce,
gray eyes turn mauve,
pink lips turn crimson,
and black skies turn cerulean.

So when the sun finally rises,
clarity flashing the world,
and the moon is nowhere to be seen,
don’t forget who made the night red

who made the night blue,
green,
pink,
yellow,
orange,
purple.

Looking at the golden cities now,
that once silver appeared,
show unappreciated scores,
give undeserving medals.

One sun shines for all eight planets,
the Earth orbits without question,
leaving behind a valuable possession,
forgetting our diamond rock.

But, it’s just our unique satellite.

Just our source of glister,
in the worst gloom.
It’s just the reason we can witness
the beauty of the night.

Oh,
it’s just the moon.