....

i stare blankly at the moon,
which holds no meaning for me now.
not that it ever did,
coming to think of it.
i imagined, or rather hoped that
a poet in me would emerge, if i
could read strange things into it.
it could help embellish my poems,
like a pretty chain around one's neck.
a dangling ornament.
But it was too haughty, too evasive
and my metaphors too weak
and hackneyed.
other poets have tampered with you enough.
and used you as a handy tool,
for supplying ready-made romance.
maybe it's your soft-pearl glow
against night's impenetrable sky,
that touched many a sensitive soul,
whose quills, pens, key-boards,
reverberate with your name.
I'll turn to the stars instead,
and let you be for a while,
until i'm tempted
to use your alluring charm
one more time.
just this once.