About lunacy (Root ‘luna,’ being ‘moonstruck’)

Does the moon cast spells at night?

Misty magical moon rays transfixing us as we go about our lives,

Illuminating, elevating, alliteration creating.

 

A silvery net is cast to earth nightly,

By the old man in the moon, but of course you remember him.

And all our deepest dreams, the hopes we live by,

Absorbed by the stars, twinkling in allegiance,

Twinkling in defiance.

 

Every night new stars are born,

Borne of a million silent prayers,

A grandmother awaiting her first grandchild,

A traveler, weary for home, and for a pair of dry walking shoes,

A starfish, thirsty for the sea,

An ear of corn, waving at the sun,

In a wide arched appeal for precipitation.

 

Silver nets loosely tethered to the moon,

Engage in their nightly endeavours,

Of sweeping, sweeping, sweeping our shores,

Our skies, where rogue stars wander,

Always just out of reach,

Vehemently, indignantly, united in a show of force

 

But the moon,

Alas the moon. Casts it’s spell,

Transfixing us all, as we go about our lives.

Reeling in a sky’s worth of stars,

An ocean’s secretly buried fallen stars,

In its silver nets, exacting as they are,

A collective consciousness of constellations,

To add to the night sky.

 

A rather strange idea you venture,

Shall I write you a poem about lunacy?