THE WEAVE:

Vesta enters the steering

room, and quietly closes

the door behind her…

"Its okay if you are
tired, Persephone,"
Vesta says, without pretense,
"I can take over."

"I thought you were in the Library?"
Persephone looks at Vesta,
surprised to see her.

Vesta shrugs, "I am
wherever I need to be.
I was there, but
I found this poem you wrote,
and I felt that you
might need it." She hands
Persephone, a wrinkled
piece of parchment.  At the top,
it reads, 'XVIII:THE MOON'.

"Thanks..." Persephone trails,
as she takes it.

"Why don't you ebb back
to your bunk, and I'll steer
the Ferry, for a while."

"Okay, thanks V."

Vesta nods, and takes
the wheel, "Did you distribute
the diaries?"

"Yeah," Persephone affirms,
"It's just a Matter
of Time Now..."

XVIII:THE MOON 

You should know,
you are not the first
to make me his muse,
and it's a far Way
for me to peek down

from that pedestal.
There are songs
about my Love, sung
to thousands of people;
lyrics printed

on t-shirts, worn by girls
who think they are me.
There is a Labyrinth, built
from my whispers, next to a swing
born from my image.

There are tattoos, drawn
from my essence.  There are
poems, pulled from my tides.
I will inspire you to Dream,
there is no question

of that.  I am not
telling you this, because 
I am proud, but because
you should know:
my Darkness glows in tandem

with my Light.
I will fall into mySelves,
from ebb to ebb, and you
may not be able to find
yourSelf there.

You would not be
the first, to let me go
when you discover,
I cannot alWays be
your reflection.

“The rage that craves you

crumbles all that could be

good about you. It eats

a-Way, like acid, in a belly

destitute. Sick with Empty,

full of Nothing, brimming over

with Despair. It pains me

in these moments, I Now know

my soul too, lives there.”

-The Oracle of Passeridae