Cold and silent, the skyline is bright

The traveler relives in his mind an old sound

Glowy greens and blues are in sight.

All of his memories, were they always so round?

The uneven path on the cratered pools of dark

Skid his foot on the surface and in grace he leapt

This motion would be the end to life’s arc

He surrendered to the dark thoughts that crept

As soon as he landed, a tune, dormant, emerged

His feet synced up seamless, and the tune grew

The omnipotent melody and motions soon merged

How high he flies up with movements so few

Free and in rhythm, his body is his speaker

Cathartic and bittersweet his memories would soon be

The once ruling calamity in reaction grew weaker

The man on the moon realizes he is free