Silicon moon

I was born under a silicon moon,
On the outer crust of a well-mapped world,
by the logical light of dead and distant stars.
I was told that god does not exist,
(and learned it myself when the time came)
and that heroes, legends, were merely men,
were mortal, were flawed,
and were good only at causing pain.
I have lived a life without poetry-
seen love as a combination of chemical reactions and
physical attractions,
I have felt the strength of adrenaline and have
learned the molecular composition of fear,
and yet,
tonight,
the window reveals a pencil-sketched world,
and I see the moon and picture a face,
made dim by time and
distant in space,
and feel, certainly,
this is something more
than chemical allure.

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