I see myself through your onyx-moon eyes,
reflecting lifetimes beneath their dark, still surface.
I hear echoes of my past self in your voice,
soft as falling petals—
a resonance of storms I once weathered.
I have walked nearly the same sacred path—
though you move swifter than the wind,
speak with the thunderclap of Athena's shield,
and shine brighter than Apollo's first light.
Once, a quiet child,
afraid of the voices of angry birds,
haunted by monsters who wore mortal skin,
now stands like a mountain in stormlight—
shaking stone, breaking iron,
unfolding wings carved from suffering.
Power rests within your heart.
You just have to set yourself free
and rise above your painful ashes—
as the phoenix is always reminding us:
even darkness serves the bloom.
And with glory and grace,
it rises from the ugliest hell—
a constellation redrawn across the sky
for others to witness and remember:
the girl once silenced
is now myth,
is now sovereign.
That pure soul, once wingless,
wove galaxies with trembling hands,
built a world from garden bones and broken lullabies—
a kingdom rooted in empathy
and crowned with wild roses.
Here, laughter rings like chapel bells.
Here, loyalty is the highest spell.
And respect towers like golden pillars,
engraved with the names of those
who dared to become whole.
No damsels here—
only queens of the flame,
warrior-poets in velvet armor,
keepers of sacred fire and gentle law.
This is not just a dream.
It is a place to call home.
Oct 25, 2025
Oct 25, 2025 at 7:36 AM UTC
I see myself through your onyx-moon eyes,
reflecting lifetimes beneath their dark, still surface.
I hear echoes of my past self in your voice,
soft as falling petals—
a resonance of storms I once weathered.
I have walked nearly the same sacred path—
though you move swifter than the wind,
speak with the thunderclap of Athena's shield,
and shine brighter than Apollo's first light.
Once, a quiet child,
afraid of the voices of angry birds,
haunted by monsters who wore mortal skin,
now stands like a mountain in stormlight—
shaking stone, breaking iron,
unfolding wings carved from suffering.
Power rests within your heart.
You just have to set yourself free
and rise above your painful ashes—
as the phoenix is always reminding us:
even darkness serves the bloom.
And with glory and grace,
it rises from the ugliest hell—
a constellation redrawn across the sky
for others to witness and remember:
the girl once silenced
is now myth,
is now sovereign.
That pure soul, once wingless,
wove galaxies with trembling hands,
built a world from garden bones and broken lullabies—
a kingdom rooted in empathy
and crowned with wild roses.
Here, laughter rings like chapel bells.
Here, loyalty is the highest spell.
And respect towers like golden pillars,
engraved with the names of those
who dared to become whole.
No damsels here—
only queens of the flame,
warrior-poets in velvet armor,
keepers of sacred fire and gentle law.
This is not just a dream.
It is a place to call home.