What The Moon Sees

What The Moon Sees

Tonight, on every continent of this
war torn planet, there are still people
laying in wait for their enemies with guns, grenades,
knives, stones, bare hands, thoughts, words, feelings.
Terror reigns in dead-end allies, and behind walls,
both real and imaginary.
People still strap bombs to themselves
and board buses carrying schoolchildren, young lovers,
and old women tired from searching the city for bread and meat.

Tonight, on every continent of this
starving planet, millions of people went to bed
without enough to eat. Women shoo flies
from the lips of their dying children.
If they’re lucky, they fall into a dreamless sleep.
High in glass towers, some feast on
wild animals who may soon be extinct.
It's hard to believe they’re unaware of
what goes on down in the street.

Tonight, on every continent of this
overburdened planet, prophets of doom
dressed as anchormen cast fear in our hearts
in between commercials for frozen pot pies
and pills to improve our quality of life.
Bird flu, bombs, nuclear waste, they recite.
Not even money will keep you safe, they say,
but we still keep buying.
Mountains of garbage ring our doomed cities.

Tonight, on every continent of this
traumatized planet, there’s an ocean of pain,
but everyone’s denying the waves.
Some drown in bars, some sink to the bottom
with a needle plunged into their veins.
Some of us are so used to its texture
we can’t feel it scraping our skin raw, even when it bleeds.
We swim in the undertow, despite being warned it isn’t safe.
We stumble into dark allies to be beaten and raped.

Tonight, on every continent of this
laboring planet, some of us are beginning to see.
We take the boards off our windows and walk undefended
into enemy territory.
The moon calls us to the rooftops of our shell-shocked cities.
Face to face, we can’t tell friend from enemy.
Past and future fade away.
We turn to the sky and remember: a star, a child, wise men
kneeling with the beasts.