Last wish

Forgive me if I now turn into
a hunter,
my arrows finding you by
the sound of your teeth
gnawing for my blood.
Forgive me moon,
if I now pull you down on
this earth,
to find out if those dark
patches on you are your
birth marks,
or, are the signs of blood
dried and left too long and
too deep to clean.
Since time unknown, you hung
over me, waxing and waning
as it suited you, shaping my
massive waves sometimes
into high tides, and sometimes
as timid as a lamb under
a butcher's knife.
Forgive me now, if I finally
crash onto your shores and
destroy some of the land
you built as sanitized as you
felt you could, however loosely
though formed.
Too, forgive me if I now ask
"What did you do with so
much of love, which could have
been given to others who knew
how to sustain it forever?"
Forgive me also, If I ask you
now, just before I finally
unveil this unknown painting
of yours, unmasking layers of
pretense and the maze of falsehood
that for the sake of those
dreams and the life that wasn't,
why didn't you ask me about my
last wish,
and about the way
I would choose to die?