WHEN THE SKY SPLITS

By Dorit D'Scarlett (Dark Poets Prize III Winner)

The night it happened, the stars did not blink.

They hung, empty-eyed, in the yawning dark,

watching as the air rippled,

as the sky peeled back like old paint,

revealing something vast, something waiting.

The first to go were the dreamers,

the ones who lay awake, listening.

They did not scream, only walked,

slow and sure into the black,

as if answering a call no one else could hear.

Then the clocks stopped.

Not stuttered—stopped.

No tick, no tremor, only silence,

like time itself had been plucked from its root.

I ran my hands through the air,

felt it shiver like breath on glass,

a membrane stretched too thin.

Something pressed from the other side,

not a hand, not a face—

just pressure.

The radio static spoke in tongues.

Shadows moved where there were none.

Somewhere, a child laughed,

though there were no children left.

And still, the sky split wider.

And still, the stars watched.

#darkpoetsprize