It begins on a night swollen with rain,
where clouds smother truth like wet cloth.
The stars—mute witnesses—are veiled,
while the moon rises, gleaming
with light it did not earn.
It did not defy darkness—
it inherited glow,
passed down like titles
washed clean of blood.
Scars mark its face—
not from survival,
but from ambition.
It hides them beneath stolen shine,
pretending to be whole.
Justice hangs in the clouds,
soft now, drifting.
They cannot strip
what charm has already excused.
The stars still burn,
but no one looks.
Their light dims
beneath praise
for the clever thief.
This poem explores the harsh realities of power and privilege through the metaphor of the moon and stars. The moon, shining with stolen light, represents those in society who rise by taking credit, wealth, or recognition that was never truly theirs—yet they are still admired. The stars symbolize the unseen, honest souls whose light is buried beneath injustice and silence. Even the clouds, once fierce like justice, become passive, unable to challenge the wrong. The poem questions not the scars we’re born with, but how pain is sometimes used as a weapon or shield to justify taking what isn’t earned. In the end, the poem mourns the quiet extinction of those who truly deserved to shine.
