Revolution

The moon belies the luminosity
That lies beneath its hardened coat of gold
It hides too well the domesticity
Of cries and whispers that ignore the mould.

As it will pierce and trespass on the walls
Of the forlorn, the maudlin and the sad
It vivifies and gracefully enthrals
Like some delicious transcendental ad.

Indeed it advertises the embrace
That night reserves for creatures of the day
The tearful joy when finishing the race
And hope beyond the hope of come what may.

There is a lunar path to destiny
Rising against the sun in mutiny.