There is no brain inside the moon

 

No poems can conceive

 

That pain that clutches inside

 

People try to find something

 

That pain reaches out to

 

Beyond the waves and tide

 

Feelings spin in the evening

 

Hearts seem to break

 

Nothing is better is never found

 

Soon the worms move

 

All is not lost as time rolls

 

Unfolding with plot turns

 

As if the illusion of love

 

Could haunt us all.