Flying to the Moon

I can hear her, when she comes calling.

The moon, when she croons.

The sweetest song, enthralling,

which she whispers, to us loons.

When she bathes the world at night,

our stage is flooded with her spotlight.

The dogs and cats let us know,

and await us, as their eyes do glow.

And the winds that rush through the trees,

bring noises and messages with the breeze.

A whole world ripe, ready for taking,

filled with chaos of our making.

The fools who term our freedom as madness,

shiver with fright, that we harness.

Your deepest fear, always thus,

that you too could be one of us.

Why bear one life, when you can be,

not one person, but rather three.

Why live chained by a moral code,

and not take a journey down our road?

To do as you please, live in the now.

Focus not on the why, but the how.

fearing death, why live so weak?

Stop the talk and start to speak.

See the world the way we do,

break the cages you're shackled into.

See reality, so mundane,

bland enough to turn one insane.

It's not too late, even for you.

Take not one life, spare not two.

Behind every circle lies a square,

happiness is a mask for despair.

It's not a thing entirely bad,

to be called a person mad.

It means that you don't conform,

like these idiots, from the day they're born.

The moon, she knows all this.

Smiling as she sees our bliss.

As long as she guides our flow,

our blessed tribe will continue to grow.