Beneath the moon’s unblinking stare,
Where twisted shadows fill the air,
The ground forgets the touch of sun
Where once we laughed, now we run.
The forest hums a quiet hymn,
A dirge for hearts gone cold and dim.
The wind, it weeps like someone near,
Who’s lost too much to even fear.
The stars have vanished from the sky,
As if they couldn’t bear to try.
The trees reach out with aching limbs,
And whisper names on phantom winds.
A child once danced along this trail,
Barefoot joy in soft detail.
But silence came, and took her hand
Now lullabies are made of sand.
The ravens watch with knowing eyes,
They speak in riddles, truths, and lies.
They’ve seen us break, they’ve watched us bleed
And feasted on our fallen dreams.
A clock still ticks in some old room,
Its hands slicing through the gloom.
And stories die where no one hears,
Just buried under years and tears.
So if you walk where light has fled,
And feel the weight inside your head
Just know: the dark is never gone.
It waits. It watches. It lives on.
