"Moonbeam of Sorrow"

Why must nothing be of importance?

I'm instructed to take what's handed as it seems, yet expected to remove its soul and have it wither in my palms.

Am I consumed by an imagined world? Or rather a fool for not wrapping the universal in a veil of grey lace; stroking it with each of my fingertips, never daring to grasp it all at once?

As the Sun and the Moon rise but seldom meet, I'm told it all shall pass like a fleeting dream; until the grey veil smothers me whole and my long lost eyes turn into Stars.

Still, on the edge of my bed I pray They'll grant my enchanted wish.

For, as I lay blurring real and perceived, I dread the hole I dig into my skin.