Darkness upon the waters,
a plague upon the sky,
the tired old moon rides
low above the barren trees.

His edges remain intact.
In his life, he has touched
far too little.

When children ask him,
'What are nightmares made of? ',
his reply is inevitably the same.

'Real fear takes imagination.'

The sky becomes a field
of burning stones.

David Kowalczyk

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/getting-drunk-with-the-moon/