Do I scandalize you, mortals?
How even when full, I hide my face, as though blushing in shame for some crime? Why should I not bow as my mother passes before me? Do you not reverence your own mothers?
And do not trouble me about that hunter, again! How many of you would muster patience ifย a gaping boy bearing a bloodstained spear disturbed your private bath? On his account would you call me fickle and cruel.
Yet you muster ever more hubris, through your ever-mastery of technology that our own Prometheus bequeathed you, than ever you accused me of? Was it not enough that you left your footprints forever upon me? Must you ravage apart our mother to satisfy your endless cravings?
I watch you, mortals, though you see me only when Helios retires. My gentle strides are enough to sweep your tides low and high, whatever Neptune may say. And I will light up your night sky as I please. Or not.
Follow my course, and know peace. Fight for your own path at your peril.
It makes no difference to me.
Super Blueblood moon …
another lunatic
preaching
for Poets United–Midweek Morif–Moon
Frank J. Tassone 
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