Who crept like rot through heaven’s door,
and stole the glow the moon once wore?
Who plucked the stars from velvet sky
left them bleeding, left them dry?

The silver cradle, cracked and gone,
no lull of light to lean upon.
The hush was thick, the dark was near,
no whisper far, no breath to hear.

The thief wore night like skin too tight,
and swallowed whole the edge of light.
They tore the seams of stitched-up flame,
and left the void without a name.

No song rose in midnights might, no gull took air nor mid nor flight,
just darkened ash where stars once sang and they left a empty pang.
A hush so loud it screamed through bone
a silence that devoured every tone.

Each shimmer, ripped from sky like thread,
each hymn of dusk now choked by the dead.
The frost clung hard to every vein,
no thaw, no sun, just gnawing pain.

No lark to stir the wounded sun,
no sparrow’s cry, no morning run.
Just echoes in a frost-bit field,
where once the warmth of wonder kneeled.

Who dared defile that sacred dome?
Who stripped the stars and fled their home?
No name, no footstep, no retreat
just wreckage left beneath their feet.

The world, a husk of breathless stone,
no glow, no grace, just gristle, bone.
The moon—unhooked, her bed grown cold,
her stories lost, her silence bold.

What worth this world, this wasted tomb?
Where shadows bloom and roses gloom.
Where joy once dared to dance with art
they tore the night, they stole my heart.

I curse their hands, their silent ****,
their artless theft, their frozen will.
They’ve burned the night, they’ve bled the skies,
and left me here with hollow eyes.

No songs remain, no light, no flame,
no clouds with thought, no breath, no name.
Just endless dark and hope’s last cry,
where dreams lay down their wings to die.

The thief has fled with heaven’s heat,
and left my soul in scorched defeat,
But still I stand with yonders stare,
Nothing left but darkness bare.