Condescending Moon

the fake glint,pure white
 countours of cloudless, adoration
 inside the wilderness
 a dimension without

     turning eyes won't delight
     showers of morning star
     whereas the extolment to beaut
     is the heaven shine
   
     upon carved misery,
     was the line
     trailing to prophet's sleeves


 the glory mid of night
 a simple blaze
   take a demeanor will not faze
           the ephemeral light


               so you find the moon pretty
               tell us more how you describe it