My Moon

I've fell upon hard rocks
for years,
and still
I refuse to lay down
and die.

Trauma has bitten my soul
in places where the sun never sets
as my moon makes its permanent bed-
nesting with stars like a sleeping child.

To rise-

Reaching for hands of limbs
of a dying tree, twisted during
storms of natures anger
leaves me hopeful
for new beginnings.

Is there nothing better than sunshine upon your face?

yes, moonbeams know love
and so do I.