The Boy Who Walks the Moon

The day we stepped out on to the moon,
Fine moon dust shifted beneath our boots
The warmth of the atmosphere grazed our backs, like a fresh loaf of bread in the oven
That was when I first saw him,
The boy who walks the moon.

Carrying with him the world, a bundle of hay upon his shoulders,
Making his way past the nearest crater, thine eye did see.

He smiled, ooh how he smiled, one of the purest and most innocent smiles I have ever seen,
only a child could possibly form.

His smile stretched from one region to the next,
A fierce illuminating fire burned in his pale green, pupils.

A Moon dweller’s life was as hard as the stories their calluses told.
Embedded on his hands and feet were the stories unspoken, and the stories unheard.

An unimaginable reality to those back home,
Who choose not to lose their sheltered views on anything outside, their safe haven.
They opt to ignore the very existence of the boy who walks the moon, but there he was.

And still the boy would smile, day, after, day, after, hot day
Tears evaporated by the sun, wrinkles engraved among his eyes,
From there they hung
From wars that had come, and from wars that had gone,
Invaders with their guns and their ideals,
More detrimental to their way of life, than the threat they claimed to have come,
to vanquish.

A soul unconquered, but not unscathed
a lucid dream of peace, eclipsed with prosperity,
sealed away in the chambers of his own heart.

Each step left a trail in the sandbox for others to follow,
So that they too may find their way as the boy, who walks the moon, had done.

A child’s imagination gave life to the canals on the moon, now they flow of water, each drop whos origin began with the hopes of a child, longing for a better life, and more of it, changing the hearts and minds of us aliens, who came to seek and to destroy, 
forever remembering the boy who walks the moon when we return back to earth.

--Joshua D., Adult