Be certain
darkness does not escape its own shadow.
The wicked may walk long roads,
but every step remembers the fall.
And the righteous
even when bound,
even when buried in dust
carry a key the world cannot see.
What is beauty
without knowing where to place the soul?
A gold ring
pressed into the snout of a beast
still gold…
still wasted.
For what is the face
if the heart has no gatekeeper?
The righteous desire
like a seed
it breaks,
it bleeds,
but it becomes.
The wicked hope
like smoke
rising loud,
vanishing empty,
leaving only the taste of fire.
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 7:59 PM UTC
Be certain
darkness does not escape its own shadow.
The wicked may walk long roads,
but every step remembers the fall.
And the righteous
even when bound,
even when buried in dust
carry a key the world cannot see.
What is beauty
without knowing where to place the soul?
A gold ring
pressed into the snout of a beast
still gold…
still wasted.
For what is the face
if the heart has no gatekeeper?
The righteous desire
like a seed
it breaks,
it bleeds,
but it becomes.
The wicked hope
like smoke
rising loud,
vanishing empty,
leaving only the taste of fire.
Request permission to use this poem