The Face in the Crater

Moon,

I see your scarred face—

etched with punishment,

marked with sorrow.

They call you thief,

breaker of Sabbath,

sinner exiled to shine.

Yet what crime is eternal light?

What judgment carves a man into rock

and crowns him with silver?

I write to you, condemned one.

Do you envy the stars—

brief, burning, gone?

Do you envy the wolves—

who may one day finish their hunger?

You are chained to endurance.

But listen—

your silence is not wasted.

The weary turn upward,

and see not guilt but witness.

I am one of them.

And in your scarred face,

I find my own.