“I see you moon, with your eye wide open.
What made you orange on this night?
Your usual drooping lid is gone now.
What is it that you’re so excited to say?”
“I am here to whisper to you the truth of life—
of hope, adventure, and freedom.
I am full with answers on this night.
Ask me anything, my dearest passerby.”
“Did you say hope? I could use that.
Times are hard, and I am sick of waiting.
Adventure—now that is alluring.
But freedom—what right have you to give that?”
“What right do I? I have all the rights.
I can give you whatever you want.
All you have to do is ask.
The world is yours, sweet passerby.”
“Well, my gypsy soul is needing travel.
A profession I like would be nice.
More money would surely make me happy.
Could you spare me these things, O moon?”
“I certainly can and will passerby.
Is there nothing else I can do?
Remember I am here for you,
to fill you with your heart’s desires.”
“O, well… yes, there is something else.
I would like to catch the eyes of love.
Is that possible for you to do?
Grant me immense wealth and fame too!”
“Of course, passerby. I can do that.
It is yours. Now to my desire.
There is one thing I need from you.
It’s as insignificant as it can be.”
“What is that O orange moon?
You never said anything of a trade.
What could you possibly want of me?
I am a useless passerby.”
“Yes, what you say is true.
What could you possibly do for me?
But give me a token of allegiance,
so that I may always count on you.”
“Oh, is that all my sweet moon?
I can surely heed to that request.
I will forever at your feet swoon
and never put faith in another until I rest.”
“Thank you, trivial passerby.
Now that we have a deal.
I will give you everything this night,
Your verbal oath is the seal.”
There’s nothing more mysterious than a wayward key,
taken from its home and abandoned so recklessly.
Maybe not to a door or safe or some secret place.
Maybe it unlocks the entrance of a chamber
weaved with tunnels down hopeful halls
with glittering shafts and perfect windows
staring into beautiful distances.
Maybe deeper into rooted cellars full
and brimming with all that’s good.
Maybe it’s to some abyss of nothing
where most have once lived.
Vanessa K. Eccles is a sassy southerner and a ravenous reader. She writes what she observes about life, using poetry and prose to capture moments before they’re lost. Her work ranges from gothic to fantastical and has appeared in over a dozen literary journals. Fabled, her debut novel is now available. She is also the executive editor of Belle Rêve Literary Journal.