Doing time, this surreal charade
Where the heat bakes all to dust
On the bright side of the moon
Its featureless sterile surface
At night I look up, above
Far away, the maddening crowd
Civilization so distant, stillness
To the heavens searching
There, in silent splendor shine
Trinkets of celestial being
Said to be the souls of men
Transient, and twinkling
No noise, no roue, no fighting
Tranquility in total contrast
My heart cannot help find hope
In a universe beyond this one
No human action or voice
Only a spacial tapestry
It surrounds the heavens
A sacristy infinate
Such magnificence beheld
Given by the God of all
But truly seen by so few
And not fully comprehended
Soon this world will reawaken
It's occupants regain their hatred
Their era short, their efforts lost
Mitigated by this lunar dust