I walked where ruin bit the stone,
where rivers choked on dust and bone.
The earth lay foul, the stars were dim—
a world in need of fire and hymn.
I raised my hand, I called the flame,
and whispered oaths in justice’s name.
The tainted fell, the filth was burned,
the wheel was righted, order turned.
And yet, the stain was never gone,
the deeper cut, the deeper wrong.
The light I bore would falter, fade—
unless the blade was ever laid.
So forth I went, with fire and will,
to cleanse, to purge, to hunt, to kill.
Each stroke of flame, each smote untrue,
proved none but I could see it through.
The wretches knelt in love and fear,
they sang my name, their voices sere.
Yet still I saw their hearts unclean,
and still I burned to make them gleam.
The fields were ash, the rivers dry,
the sun fled screaming from the sky.
And still I stood, a beacon bright,
the last true flame against the night.
Yet in the black, the embers gleamed,
and whispered truths I had not dreamed—
the hand that burned, the lips that lied,
the tyrant’s throne I sat inside.
No curse had wrought this dying land,
no foreign will, no dark command.
It was my touch, my fire fed,
and in my name, the world lay dead.
Oh seeker, mark this tale of woe—
the righteous blade may lay thee low.
For when the hand deems all untrue,
no soul remains—not even you.
YOU ARE READING
When Silence Wept
PoetryIn this collection of poetry, the veil is torn away, revealing the undercurrents of darkness that run through the human experience. These poems are raw and relentless, exploring the spaces where light fails to reach, and the truths we fear most come...
