He stares out through the window,
a stranger groaning, alone, outside;
a sight of something wrong reaches him,
and he no longer looks beyond.
Thinking, over and over, far away,
the source of his thoughts perplexes him —
guessing what might become of the stranger,
he is whirled into his own world of grief.
He realizes his own misdeeds,
the bad words he so often spoke,
and comes back, full circle, to belief;
obsession had once held its power over him.
He looks outside once more, estranged,
and this time his gaze finds the moon —
alone, shining, giving light to others,
holding so much, yet so little vanity.
It never asks for anything; it has its own.
And feeling how small his pain is
beside that quiet, overarching light,
he stops thinking only in the verse of “me.”
He moves beyond the personal —
and he is in sadness no more.
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