Moon at Half Past Noon

We begin in a world of perpetual light,
Where every morning feels impossibly bright.
Each day an anniversary, a reason to cheer,
A calendar bursting with mirth, year on year.
A cake for a sibling, a parent’s proud gaze,
A labyrinth of laughter in sun-dappled days.
It was belonging, a warmth deep and true,
A hopeful, effervescent, present-tense view.

We lived in the moment, a swift, sparkling stream,
Buoyant and trusting of every wild dream.
The future was distant, a hazy, gold haze,
And we were the sun in its infinite blaze.

But time, in its passing, wears quietly deep.
The waters we swam in grow turbulent, steep.
The vagaries gather, a slow, heavy toll,
And something essential begins to unroll.
We furl up our hope like a precious, old map,
We question each turn, every possible trap.
The innocence falters, the trust learns to doubt,
And the sense of belonging feels locked in, without.

We forget the bright currency we used to spend,
And believe that the magic has come to an end.

But this is the purpose the anniversary keeps:
It whispers our name while the world sleeps.
It is one step placed on the path of the past,
A tribute to connections we knew were to last.
A reminder of faces who shared in our schemes,
The rare, loving voices that challenged our dreams,
Who cared enough deeply to question and press,
To argue and forge in the heat of distress.
They are part of the story this anniversary tells,
A chorus of love that in memory dwells.

So let it not be a mere mark of decay,
But a step into hope for the coming day.
A bridge built from moments both joyful and grim,
A quiet, steadying, resilient hymn.
It honors the child with the effervescent heart,
And blesses the adult, who plays their own part.
A promise we make to remember the fire,
To stoke its old embers, to lift ourselves higher.
For the circle continues, though changed it may be,
The anniversary’s hope is for you, and for me.