Sitting on the shore in the dark stillness of night, The waves roll in and out in their rhythmic, Hypnotic dance, Swelling, rising high up towards the moon, Then falling and rushing back home to shore, Over and over as if endlessly trying to reach heaven, Then mourning their every failure. I feel most alive under the light of the moon, And full blanket of stars, Tiny dots of magic piercing through the black sky. There is a common idea that the moon, at her fullest, Can sway the mind and drive us closer to madness. The same way she pulls the tides at night, She pulls our puppet strings along through life Without our ever knowing. As we sing and dance about in our idiocy. Unless you are one of the mad ones. A lunatic, they'd say. One among the fantastically peculiar Who subscribes to such insanity To sit alone in the dark, bathing in the silver glow. One who understands the magic that comes alive at night, Under the governance of the moon, That luminescent whore, Sitting haughty and high in the night sky Shining bright as if to remind us of our innate dullness.