The Moon just doesn't care

The Moon just doesn't care
why I've got this needle stuck in my bosom,
she just sheds her silver
on the cold metals and the eyes.

I've been tried and found wanting;
an assemblage of self-appointed judges,
harsh as a cold wind,
have put a thorn in my side.

The pain has become a silent scream.
Action is mandated.
Yet the old cadres, the old habits
keep kicking in, unkind, unwelcome.

But the Moon, she does not care
that we are not masters of ourselves,
even less, when we are dreaming.