For ours below, Nik got things going with his ode to the moon, in which I responded in kind. I don’t want to speak too much to either and let you read them for yourself, but I did want to mention that I quite enjoyed how differently these came out—both in terms of each other’s, and in terms of Caelyn’s and Hannah’s. Sometimes the moon is its own antithesis.

To the Moon

From a Lunatic -

Luna, o wail of woes my weary soul,
And let your moonlight at midnight glow,
From your dim rays drape your alluring flow,
Like graceful gowns ‘neath golden hairs I know
Your peaceful figure of manic rest,
Hidden deep under subtle tress.

Veil your breast with clouds of silver lace,
And deny your shape to light my face,
Let me drink from only your haunting eyes,
My brow to sip your fount of gentle lies,
O do not count me as despised,
That I, with love, might dreams imbibe.

Luna, do not spoil me with your care,
Or let me down your lunar hair
If malice be lurking in late hours’ air,
O do not tempt me with beauty bare,
For I am Man who cannot wait much long,
Resisting the sight of your body’s song.

I am your slave, a groaning thrall of the night,
And I am burdened with your waxing blights,
These revolutions of wrong and right,
If right be wrong; Care not! Then me indict.
I love you still, until you hap to set,
And free me, but do not leave just yet.

To Máni

From a Dreamdweller -

I know you, argent shaper of the shroud,
The Mundilfari child half as proud
(As sisters tend to be when less endowed),
Whose sons and jötunn wife were disavowed.
I know you, Máni, waker of the moors—
You labor knowing not what strength is yours.

Your presence brings the light of grief and grace
Reflected in this memory of place.
When Sköll and Hati triumph in their chase,
You’ll join your twin when wonder turns to waste.
Remember what must be and hasten now
To steal whatever time the fates allow.

Your face reveals the nature of the dyes
Verðandi sets with ever-careful eyes:
The fallen hue of sorrow and demise,
The radiance worn only by the wise,
But rising brings the fiercest of the three
That marries passion to insanity.

You swell the seas and orchestrate the year
Whose periodic portents may appear
To those with courage called to pull them near.
O Máni, your ethereal frontier
Still hosts the sylvan cities of the fey;
Be kind to those who search and lose their way.