A Moment by the Sun. / The Arrival of the Moon

by The Cowl Editor on December 9, 2021


a sun and a moon
photo creds- pexels

Max Gilman ’25


When presented with an idea, 

One is intrigued to oppose, 

If they have knowledge 

In a field so similar

To that of which is being argued, 


One yearns an ear, 

To lean to with words 

That accumulate

And become known as

The seeking of validation.


When presented with a new idea, 

Accept it, 

At first, 

And try


Instead of


Such validation. 


There she woke up, 

Upon a bed of orange sand, 

To become the observer of an endless sunset, 

Confronted with an infinite horizon. 


Around her lay remains, 

Which a scholar could barely interpret.

The rumble grounded itself, 

With the sand below its structure.


In the moment she sat there, 

In the shifting sand, 

She felt as if time had given her a break, 

For at least the moment, 

To witness such a miraculous sunset,  

A beauty to withhold from no man.

She felt a breeze come from below her.

The breeze threw small rocks


Toward the sitting girl, 

Implanting themselves along her hair.

She left the rocks, though, 

A conscious decision, 

And began standing up.

She knew not why she was here, 

In this desert-like place, 

Surrounded by the empty infrastructures, 

Obtruding about the moving ground, 

Or why the sun was departing from the sky so hesitantly, 

But she admired it there.

As the heat had begun to withdraw

From the barren landing, 

Another breeze lifted the girl’s hair, 

And she thought of its comfort.

Curiosity intrigued the girl,  

Yet she remained

By the spot where she had awaken, 

To witness a splendid picture, 

Emanating art

For art’s sake.




Precious sleep… 



Shocking cold grasp. 

Like the feeling of ice water exposed, 

To warm skin. 

Uncomfortably frigid sand, 

Shifting with her moving arm.

Her mind, 

Ablaze with thought, 


A frightening light 



A spotlight? 



The moon

Has arrived. 

Like an entity of vast, colossal size, 

The moon tore through the air, 

Perching above the world below, 

Looking down in a grim attitude, 

Shedding little light

Around the barren sand

And protruding buildings.

One could say the moon took on a sinister tone

That night, 

As it collected all of itself

Into one cohesive, spherical, godly planet, 

Towering above all those residing

On the puny land

The moon so grimly overlooked.


Then night… 


Begins to overtake the girl, 

As she begins to confront her confusion.





I am in the desert,  

I watched the sun set, 

I must have fallen 





She reaches to her left arm

To now confront the stagnant grip there.


Who could 

It be 

Holding my arm  


Came here 



The girl kicks the blind spot behind her, 

Shifting the sand quickly.

As her body twists

To face the unknown peruser, 

Her heart








No one. 


An empty painting


Of a desert at night,


In a museum.


The girl shrieks, 

Holding her head tight

Between two hands, 


The wrinkles on her face

Too close 




And sand

Don’t mix well, 

But the girl has already begun

Pulling her hair out, 

Spastically dispersing it around her, 


Staring at you, 

The viewer, 



She keeps pulling, 

It keeps coming out.


It comes out like string, 

Loose string, 

As her eyes stare deep and long

Into your eyes, 

The viewers eyes, 

Her eyes,

A midnight black, 

Your eyes.

She knows you watch her with them, 

She knows she is just a character, 

Just a character, 

For your amusement,


The viewer.

She knows she is here, 

In this piece,  

Stagnant and without purpose, 

But to tell the story, 

Laid out before her.


She knows you watch her, 

She knows she is just a character


In a poem, 

In a desert, 

In a painting, 

In a museum, 


In a cage, 

In a cage. 



She’s happy, 


In a cage.


Did you not read the beginning of this piece? 

She seemed happy, 

In a cage.

I thought she seemed happy, 

In a cage.


Join her, 

By leaving your eyes in their rightful sockets, 

Or dare to relinquish this poem’s entertainment, 

Leaving it

Solely to tear your eyes out.