Moon.

All is silent as couples, groups and lonesome walkers march beneath the moon. Although tonight the moon is uncertain or rather undeveloped, shying away he displays mere fragments of his ability. Sadly then tonight like many other nights one cannot marvel within the beauty of the whole, one has to settle with the half, third, or quarter displayed. Stepping forth individuals everywhere throw their heads back and gaze into the moons creamy depths for something to say. Those who marvel form phrases but they’re incomplete, or rather the moon is incomplete so naturally so are the limp phrases plucked from its form.

From above the stars mock the moon, they taunt and jeer at the indefinitely changing face below. The moon is indifferent to these insults, although from time to time the sun still bellows down calling the stars to order. Like naughty children they run away into darkened corners. The moon smiles and tips his hat, the sun winks and checks his pocket watch, they change sides of the street. In the east the sun rises, in the west the moon stands content.