The Perfectionist On His Illusory Journey

The beautiful dark blue sky And his inner cry. The Moon's far away of her crescent facecloth And she strums the strings of the night Harp. That particular serenade He remebers in his younger days. Moon murmurs; ' You're only a pen-friend Scribbles lot of love letters And this could be a Platonic love But physically we never come a close.' And he responds; 'We're two objects and you're belong to the sky And I grab the Earth tightly The distant between us immeasurable And the proposed bridge Only a sketch that drawn in our fragile hearts. In the lazy morning I collect the dew drops Which scattered along the green into my broken pitcher!