Inspiration of the Rocket Man,
Goal of the encouraged,
Beauty of the psychic,
Sign of the night.
La lune,
La luna,
The moon.

Full as it lives
Up in the shadowy atmosphere.
Bright as it reflects
The glossy sun that disappeared a while before.
Gentle as it watches
The nightlife buzzing.
Soft as its light touches
The silky skin of the peaceful.
Graceful as it slowly glides
Through the twilight sky.

As it rests
Adjacent to the mountain,
The man seems to gape
At the scene below.
Any human would dream
Of the intense stare he offers.

It reminds me of Shakespeare,
Appearing to act out his masterminded play
Across the sky.
But while rhapsodizing
Its visions,
Its experiences,
Its memories,
It forgets about
One minor detail,
One small element
Its home,
The Earth.

Because of this,
It is a bee.
Bees are not supposed to fly.
The aerodynamics of the wing
Does not allow the busy creature
To soar above the flowers like angels.
Amazingly, it flies anyway.
It do not know why they fly
Or why they can't,
Nevertheless it escalates
Into the blue,
Unconsciously.