The Moon Made Of Rope

Aligned with the stars,
Claiming another heart.
Taking in another broken,
Breaking the path woven.
Swinging left and right,
A rough orb in the night.
Hung over-head,
Putting another to rest.
All movement has gone by dusk,
The rope left to rust.
A crimson covered canvas,
Families surround us.
As their child hugs the moon,
From the ceiling of their bedroom.