I've been talking to the moon,
from the sanctuary of my room;
when the doubts deny me sleep,
across the emptiness we speak;
where the holes in darkness' skin
let the light of heaven in…
and, as the stars, must you and I
burn so bright, only to fade,…
and die?

When I gaze upon the sea,
I hear the womb of mystery
whisper of when the first to come,
crawled ashore to breathe and feel the sun,
although there was no sign to say
"I am the light, this is the way"
if faith alone thus sets us free,
then who will part these awesome waves
for me?
I taste the fruit, I sip the wine,
but am I barely breathing?
Sometimes I feel I need a sign
that my life has some meaning;
something to believe in.

Then I turn and look at you,…
and I draw the curtains too,
sit beside you where you sleep,
kiss the moonlight on your cheek.
Sensing that I've been away,
you ask if everything's O.K…
I pull you close, and can't reply,
that's when I realise that I…

I've just been talking to the moon.

© Steve O'Kane