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Chasing the Moon
Chasing the Moon
Over wet pine straw, between the trees,
I run towards the silver moon,
wanting just to touch it. I’m endlessly chasing
this perfect circle of beauty.
Memories fuel me like the raindrops that fall,
thrown stinging by the wind. I take another step.
With every jolt of pain, I’m one step
farther into the dark and looming trees.
On my mind, words of ‘caution’ fall.
How dare they try and keep me from the moon!
But their weak attempt is futile. That beauty
will be mine. I will touch the moon I’m chasing.
Thinking of reaching that which I’m chasing
takes the weight off every step.
Soon, I’ll touch, hold, have, this beauty.
I fight my way through the ominous trees,
wanting a complete view of the moon,
but in my eyes, obscuring raindrops fall.
I struggle to not fall
as I clamber over rocks, chasing
all I really want anymore- the moon.
The pain burns me with each step
until all I can think of is what’s behind the trees-
the shining circle, the perfect beauty.
Higher into the sky climbs the beauty
as I trip over roots and nearly fall.
“When I fall, it’ll be your fault!” I yell at the trees
but they already know. What I’m chasing
is indifferent. One more step
closer. Uncaring, shining in the sky, is the moon.
I push myself towards the moon,
closer to the impeccable beauty.
I force myself to take one more step.
I have to reach what I’m chasing
before it is no longer above the trees,
before I’m finished, before I fall.
The large sun illuminates the trees as I remember the holes in the moon.
The dented, imperfect thing I was chasing wasn’t the real beauty.
A skeleton, I fall. No more steps.