It's the Moon, the moonchild somedays envied.
Her endless ataraxy and beauty that's buried,
making moonchild wish the stars a plenty,
to be the same instead of feeling empty.
It's the Moon, the moonchild somedays worship.
Her kalon through solitude in night sky's dip,
Her selcouth yet latibule companionship,
makes moonchild's magoa stay asleep.
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The Secrets of a Moonchild
Poetrya collection of poems for lost souls, dreams and the ability to see beauty in all of the universe's color scheme. [PREVIEW ONLY] 🌙ongoing
