The man on the moon is out tonight for a brisk dusk walk. He's wearing a top hat made of sleak black clouds that covers one side of his face, it is tall black and wide at the brim.
I resolved to take a drive and find answers, to find myself, to find her (hand in mine). I drove past my history to see where I went wrong, to try to look at my mistakes and perhaps solve this puzzle that has become my life. I drove past the good times and they just reminded me of that which is now gone and may never be again. I saw your pretty doll face and bright ocean water smile litter the road side and I almost pulled over but drove on instead. That was how our interactions remained an almost salvation doomed to near collisions of my so-close-but-so-far timing. For all my searching I have turned up empty handed and the end of the day has arrived to find me open palmed raised to the heavens in silent prayer. I have found no answers and her face is but a glimmer in the light of the setting sun colored soft white orange and shiny blue rings.
I would remain alone in this dusk glow of flowing thoughts were it not for one. So for all my dream chasing all I can claim for this day is it's night guardian, he is the man on the moon. His once large and smiling face has been distorted to a crooked grimace. His countenance no longer bright and white, has long turned a weak and sickly yellow. His eyes have sunk in, dark and cold, looking down in despair because he too cannot find his long lost love. He sits alone in the night sky, cloudy hat tipped to one side to hide his scarred face, while a sorrowful tune fills the air. He sits alone in a sky of deep blue, purple, and red and stares out blankly.
He mutters: There's great evil. Where's it come from? We are being robbed, killed, and left alone in this desolation.
He looks down at me and asks only one thing, have you passed through the night?
He answers himself, I have.
For friends I have the sleepy sunset which without fail dozes off mid conversation, words lost to and empty sky with teasing glimmers of stars too far off to hear my mournful cries. There is empty parking lots that withhold their advice from me, stone faced sitting across the night time nothing land. And now I have you a weary man searching for things unknown lost like me in this shroud of red-blue hues that cloak our soul.
This is the man on the moon and we are each others only friend, final passengers on this lonely midnight train traveling the lotus landscape of dreams and long forgotten dusks…
Have you passed through the night?
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