Just like the moon, he tries to shine, 

To lend his strength against the dark-veiled night. 

He bears his flaws, the wrinkles softly line, 

A sleepless soul, seeking only the light. 

And though the moon is never fully whole, 

Some days are dim, or quietly withdrawn. 

You know the moon gives all its constant soul, 

Even when waiting for the coming dawn. 

He needs the sun’s reflection to remain, 

Just as he needs a quiet, steady hand, 

A soft connection to release the pain, 

To help him rise upon his weary stand. 

This is his all, his limit, what he can be. 

But if he sought a flawless, perfect claim, 

Could we return the love he gives so free, 

Even while bearing our own troubled flame? 

Perhaps that kind of love is not enough. 

Perhaps I speak of only the moon above.