If the moon could hide...

If the moon could hide away behind the silver clouds, surely it would,
But exposed, unprotected, absolute in its vulnerability, it stands
Innocent and alone, with spindly branches reaching across its face like anorexic claws, trying to scratch beneath its surface
Trying to tear into its beauty,
They quiver in glee and shudder in their dark purpose

Or perhaps they simply are less than they seem
Perhaps these claws are merely branches in the night, rattling obediently in the breeze
Perhaps it is in my own mind that their intention shows malice
That the moon’s humility displays fear and that the night holds within it a heavy and mysterious menace

What is this night?
What is this moon?
Am I a claw in the night, or a hand reaching out in hope
Splayed out and desperate?
Which is my reflection and my place?
Behind which do I hide my face?
With tears and smirks and smiles and disgrace?