A blade from the wind. A shadow torn from the sky. And the church… swallowed her whole. The swallow, a dagger of air, Stolen from the chest of the storm. She crashes into stone prayers, A wing clipped by cold form. Skylines held their breath in silence, As her flight was pulled from grace. Now she circles - ghost, not creature Inside this sacred cage. She was not made for marble skies! She was not carved to fall! A black diamond in a coffin of light Thrown by a demon to crawl! On altars of pain, on windows of shame, She sings, but no one hears her name. No golden meadow, no soft descent, Only the echo of broken intent. She cuts the silence like a scream, A holy warning, trapped in dream. And still she spins through the silent dome. A shadow with no sky. A voice with no home. But if you listen… she sings.
