The pale full moons rest upon the ground,
Fallen from the void above without sound.
One moon upon another as though
One is simply not enough to throw;
Fragile and frail as mere coloured glass,
They sit and wait near burnished brass.
The shattered ones are far away,
Tossed aside and drifting astray
In fields of corruption and fallen stars,
Cast aside like the broken vase.
What are they?
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