Tritina on the broken road

Two halves of a road rarely make a whole
I’m used by now to stick to left or right

it doesn’t matter where they split or meet

 

don’t tell me now the laws of wrong and right

the moon’s congealed, it’s too late to meet

and again make my broken things whole

 

and even all that’s perfect does not meet

each norm for being pure and whole

the moon’s full just once a month by right

 

It’s not whole, but the road's right; whether or not we meet.

 

 

For : Form for all@dVerse

Wanted to use this prompt here, but as usual got in too late. Story of my life! Borg de Nobel.