Clockwork

Slowly, the Moon emerged, casting it's light onto the deafening silence. Apart from an uncommon sight of a stray cat, not a creature twitched or stirred. Even the wind couldn't muster up the courage to provide the glimmering moonlight with the sweet melody of its whistle. The trees peacefully slumbered, while the streets lay empty and bare, begging to be driven on. The world seemingly stood still, but time kept moving on.

Minutes passed by, then hours, yet there remained no sight of liveliness. Dejected from the lack of praise, the once bright, pearly rays had turned dull and apathetic. The Moon lost the vigor and the gleam with which it had risen up. The world noticed the change, but carelessly disregarded it, causing the disheartened Moon to gradually descend and it's now dull, silvery charm to slowly fade into vibrancy.

The oncoming hue had carefully crept upon the world, spilling into people's homes, and like a palette, roused the world with the vivid blend of elegance and grandeur. It instilled in the world a new hope - a new light. With every silver sparkle that faded, a golden ray beamed in its place. The dimness was being replaced by energy, silence by song, serenity by resonance, and isolation by occurrence. To a new-born this may be unfamiliar, but to the world, this was regular. This was periodic. This was clockwork.

One the one hand, the Sun had grown accustomed to this system, and why would it not? Every time it rose, the world praised its arrival with trumpets reserved for the nobles and the royals, sang songs that would melt the harshest of icebergs, and recited sonnets that glorified its everlasting splendor.
On the other hand, the Moon had not. It saw the world celebrate its descent, like it had seen the world celebrate for millenniums, and it still hurt. It enviously gazed at the grace with which the Sun rose, at its capability to breathe life into a stagnant world, and at the admiration that the world held for it.
The Moon too desired the compliments that the Sun received and it too longed for praise and approval, but none were forthcoming. None have been ever forthcoming. Where once hope and ambition roamed, there was only resentment and defeat. As it dipped below the horizon, losing sight of the beauty it attempted to attain, the Moon prepared to shine its rays onto another street. The cycle was beginning to repeat. Under the constant resentment, the Moon realized that it too was in fact accustomed to the cycle, it just hadn't accepted it. And why wouldn't the Moon be accustomed to the cycle? After all, it was clockwork.