An Ode to Her
The moon, with its absence, burdens my soul,
A hollow ache that I cannot console.
I've sought the truth of her elusive kind,
Yet every path leaves clarity behind.
For truth, itself, bends, shifting through time,
It molds to moments, never quite sublime.
It whispers falsely, changes as we live,
Revealing there's no solid truth to give.
Her absence felt as if the moon withdrew,
Leaving my heart forever askew.
A void only her essence could fill,
A place where yearning lingers still.
In my soul, there’s a hunger to seek,
To chase what’s lost, though fragile and bleak.
The cost of such longing, the toll it demands,
Leaves laughter and music swept from my hands.
Now I must settle with a dream turned to dust,
A truth once believed, betrayed by mistrust.
But still, in my heart, though shadows may clutch,
One thing remains—I love her too much.
--- Alexandria Godala,
B/A 11.
