Shadows stretch like fingers thin,

Clawing through the sky again.

The stars go silent, one by one—

Something ancient has begun.

A silver eye begins to rise,

But trembling, pale, it dreads the skies.

Not light it brings, but frozen screams,

Waking from a thousand dreams.

When the moon wakes up, it cries in fear,

Whispers echo — "It is near..."

The world holds still, no winds, no flame,

It calls the night, but not by name.

The owls don't speak, the wolves don't howl,

A rotten hush consumes the cowl.

The moonlight bleeds through cracks in air,

Afraid of what it might lay bare.

A face once kind, now etched with fright,

It watches horrors bloom at night.

The heavens turn their eyes away,

The moon is left alone to pray.

When the moon wakes up, it sobs in dread,

Afraid to see what crawls undead.

The stars won't shine, the tides won't roll,

It sees the hunger in the soul.

Don't trust the glow that paints the trees,

It hides the thing that should not be.

For when the moon begins to rise,

It opens more than just the skies...

So close your curtains, bolt your door,

It’s not the moon you knew before.

And if it weeps above your bed,

Pray it sleeps — or you'll wake dead.