I am the moon with no mouth to defend,

Hung in the heavens where silence won't bend.

Beaten by stones flung from shadows below,

Yet lighting the path where truth dares to go.

I do not speak, I reflect and I burn,

Each scar on my face a lesson to learn.

The winds of the “fale” may twist what they hear,

But I do not flinch, and I do not fear.

I’ve watched chiefs falter, and preachers deceive,

I’ve seen the betrayed left only to grieve.

I glow not in power, nor polished acclaim,

But in wounds that bear witness, not cover in shame.

No pen was carved for a moon like me,

But I write with light on a troubled sea.

My voice is a shadow on white church walls,

A flicker of truth when the daylight stalls.

So when you read and you feel the sting,

Know it's not hatred, but reckoning I bring.

Not to shame, but to stir what’s asleep,

For the soul of a people is something to keep.

Call me broken, beaten, worn,

But I rise each dusk, and I wait each dawn.

For I am the moon you cannot erase,

The witness above, with a bruised, patient face.