The Sun needs not the Moon,
For if the Moon in the sky had burned as bright,
How come it's canvas remains a pitch black sight?
For if the Sun needed the Moon,
How come it holds it's own,
How come the Moon only reflects the lambent wishes of the Sun?
But what if the Sun sees himself as the Moon,
And the Moon as the Sun,
If the Moon sees himself for what he truly is,
And the Sun so bright he basks in it.
The Sun needs not the Moon,
And the Moon knows this,
He prefers not to shade the Sun's light,
Would never want to reduce the hopeful rays to pathetic halos,
For halos cannot light up the world.
The Moon sees everything in the Sun,
And what the Moon brings is what the people believe as madness,
And truthfully, what he brings is darkness,
If the Sun may bring the people happiness,
If the Moon did not hold their best interests in his cold heart,
Then the Moon will fear not the day he leaves.
But what the Moon does not know,
The day that he fades away from even the Sun's view,
The Sun will weep, raining gold,
The Sun will feel...cold...
The Sun isn't meant to be cold.
(What used to be golden and anew, burst into fading light, and followed the Moon)