He yearned to make the world his own
To fix the wrong where his eyes could see
At the gate of divinity he spoke
Words before he passed to a cemetery
"I loosed my hands; they yearned to shape and hold,
To cradle warmth, to keep the brittle gold.
I loosed my eyes, they wept for form and face
And begged the world to linger in its place.
I shed my wealth, no hold could remain,
For keep itself is mortal pain.
I shed my soul, it cracked beneath its weight
A flawed design unfit to shape.
I cast off compassion, sweet and thin,
For mercy splits the will and lets doubt in.
I narrowed feeling to a single line:
The end, the crown, the order I define.
At last, my heart, rebellious, frail, and loud
It tied me still to love, to loss, to vow.
I tore it free, though silence screamed its name,
And left behind the last restraint on flame."
The sight of a child, climbing the steps of a spire
Hands sliced clean off, eyes gouged in ire
Sense about him, you can tell he has no soul
And where his heart should be, on his chest a gaping hole
"Thus emptied, cleansed of self and former plea,
I crossed the dark where gods are taught to be.
What rose from me was not the child I was,
But law made flesh, and dream made sovereign cause."
Dec 20, 2025
Dec 20, 2025 at 9:31 PM UTC
He yearned to make the world his own
To fix the wrong where his eyes could see
At the gate of divinity he spoke
Words before he passed to a cemetery
"I loosed my hands; they yearned to shape and hold,
To cradle warmth, to keep the brittle gold.
I loosed my eyes, they wept for form and face
And begged the world to linger in its place.
I shed my wealth, no hold could remain,
For keep itself is mortal pain.
I shed my soul, it cracked beneath its weight
A flawed design unfit to shape.
I cast off compassion, sweet and thin,
For mercy splits the will and lets doubt in.
I narrowed feeling to a single line:
The end, the crown, the order I define.
At last, my heart, rebellious, frail, and loud
It tied me still to love, to loss, to vow.
I tore it free, though silence screamed its name,
And left behind the last restraint on flame."
The sight of a child, climbing the steps of a spire
Hands sliced clean off, eyes gouged in ire
Sense about him, you can tell he has no soul
And where his heart should be, on his chest a gaping hole
"Thus emptied, cleansed of self and former plea,
I crossed the dark where gods are taught to be.
What rose from me was not the child I was,
But law made flesh, and dream made sovereign cause."
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