Recurring ideals..!

In a blank sky, a story
not yet told basks,
sustained by its own desire
to be. 
In a sky devoid of stars,
the moon watches.
Her face is barely visible
through the false light
she so graciously pours down
upon us mortals, so eager
to achieve and possess. 
She whispers her lies,
she feeds her dreams
to the wicked and the desperate,
for lack of any way to attain
them herself. 
I rest bellow the moon.
I see her struggles,
her forced smile,
her deep desire to gain my trust.
I’m at arm’s reach, but I keep
to myself, half comatose. 
I’ve refused her offers
and her bargains, already.
I’ve grown tired of them.
They bring me not joy,
but bitter hope in the impossible,
the insane.
For they are fabrications weaved from the remnants of broken stars that were forgotten in a shallow grave. 
The moon is a liar.
She’s a merchant of deceased lights and past fortune.
She sold me only tears
and a sharp edge.
Yet here am I, under a unified sky
of nothing, staring intently
at the moon.