Dear Ancient Moon

Dear Ancient Moon,

How can I even address you,

Old witness carved from primal hue?

I speak with reverence, soft and slow—

For you have watched all things below.

You are a forbidden fruit of night,

A silver realm thats kept out of sight;

We gaze in awe from where we stay,

But none may linger where you lay.

What have your ageless corners seen?

You pulse with some eternal sheen.

I feel your quiet, mystic pull,

Your ancient energy, deep and full.

You saw the Earth birth tooth and claw—

Dinosaurs roaming without one law;

You watched the cavemen raise their fires,

And humankind form dreams and spires.

You let Apollo’s engines roar,

You let weary astronauts explore—

Yet after that triumphant stride,

Not one human boot have marked your side.

Was something there too strange to tell?

Some whispered truth they couldn’t spell?

Did you feel feet upon your crust—

Or was it theater spun from dust?

Tell me, Moon… was the landing fake,

Or real enough to make you quake?

You’ve seen our joys, our wounds, our dread,

The countless tears and rivers red.

And though your brilliance softly glows,

One half burns hot, the other froze—

A metaphor of cosmic pain,

Of light and dark in stark refrain.

If you had thoughts within your head,

What cosmic memories would be said?

For one billion years I’d sit with you,

A fly on craters old and true;

I’d watch the myths become undone,

And see our guesses overrun.

I’d look before the ancient flood,

To witness land in untouched mud;

I’d roam the skies of newborn star,

And travel back beyond the far—

The first formed sea, the first formed me,

The spark that birthed reality.

Tell me, Moon, who shaped your face?

Did you behold the moments grace

Spoke matter into swirling flight,

And lit the void with primal light?

Do you know the hand, the mind,

That set the laws for humankind?

Did you see purpose being stirred,

Or hear the first Creator’s word?

And answer, too, this riddle old—

Passed down in whispers, timid, bold:

When all began, in life’s first leg,

Which came first—the chicken or the egg?

You watched beginnings, vast and small;

You must have seen the root of all.

So, ancient Moon, I write to you—

A seeker bound by mortal view.

Reflect your wisdom if you will,

Or keep your cosmic silence still.

For though the ages shift and flow,

You watch…

and you alone may know.