Letter to the Moon

Letter to the Moon

An elderly mother sits by her lonely window,

her thin hands clasped tight against her chest,

her breath slow with the weight of fear,

as she whispers to the pale and patient moon.

She is a mother whose years have worn her down,

her hair now silver like the sky she stares upon,

her body frail yet anchored by love,

for the son she raised with every beat of her heart.

Every night she cries into the quiet,

her tears falling soft across her trembling lap,

as she begs the moon to watch over her boy,

the only light left in her tired world.

She writes a letter to the moon each evening,

folding her hopes into careful lines,

asking it to guard him through the battlefields,

where no one wins and too many fall.

She begs the moon to guide him through the dark,

to shield his steps where danger waits,

to keep his spirit strong through every terror,

and bring him home breathing and whole.

Her voice cracks as she speaks her plea,

please keep him safe beneath your silver glow,

pull him away from the war of death,

return him to the arms that ache for him.

Night after night she writes the same lines,

a mother’s prayer carved from endless love,

her heart breaking with each passing hour,

she asks the moon to take her hope across the world.

And still she waits by the cold glass window,

her letters piled like fragile dreams beside her,

her eyes fixed upward in desperate faith,

begging the moon to bring her son home soon.

Then she lays her head on a tear stained pillow,

her whispers fading into the quiet room,

asking God to help him through another night,

to keep him safe and well. With the help of the moon.