The moon and me

Scared as a child when I was
of the frightening dark,
the moon in the sky I was shown,
in my heart to create a spark
of a semblance of support
up in the distant sky.
That waned in my heart
the fear of the dark nearby.

In youthful love when I was,
in the wild years of adolescence,
the moon in the sky I was shown,
with beauty being its quintessence.
I likened my love to the moon,
wherein I searched for her face,
her lashes in the lunar shades
and her smile in its nightly grace.

The first heartbreak devastated me,
as the season of love altered its stance.
The moon in the sky I was shown,
pale it was even in resplendence.
Its light for me carried no hope,
as it lumbered through the clouds
in eternal state of remorse
even as I wrapped my soul in shrouds.

Lost in a desert I was for days,
hunger and thirst battered me bad.
The moon in the sky when shown itself,
water in its shine, I perceived.

The moon was the same at all times.
I always discerned it differently.
It was always about me and never the moon,
for it only reflected the inner me.