A Beautiful, Hollow Goddess

The moon rusts in the sky like a dead bulb
Off-white and useless.

I am the only tree beneath it
My bare branches reach
For the faintest whimper of recycled light
Sap frozen in my veins.

My brain is slow
And words are failing to offer
The best and brightest among them
Instead I get the rejects
The ones they throw out
With the evening hackney pot of coffee.

The moon should pull tides from me
I should be overwhelmed
With the midday oppressive heat
Spurning me to act, to live!
But instead my heart is a vacant bee hive
That hasn't buzzed in years,
A terrible, bloodless peace.

And from the moon I get nothing
But a beautiful, hollow goddess
To which to I continue to pray.