Wane and wax

The moon has often seemed alive
Pity i for one cares not
For it may just be sojourn place
Where the minds of lovers meet
A place of unspeakable suffering
Such is the plight of disjoint lovers on moonlit nights
Often the light seems to strike pain
Often fear
And if you speak of beaches and a silvery sea
Know the moon may at best be a taunt
Towards the hearts of the million that are dead
And millions that live
The music it reeks is at best of a funeral band
For that is what it has seen to
When the veil of human foolishness is lifted
We feel only loneliness thereof
At best the moon is really
Is a stark metaphor
Of being the false hope
Like the catalyst that spews love
And then burns the hearts
Making them wilt