I am the spark they tried to dim,
The quiet voice that learned to swim.
Not every scar was meant to stay—
Some taught me how to walk away.

I’m not my past, I’m something new—
An untold truth just breaking through.

I clawed my way from winter’s mouth…
the wolf that fed on memory and rot.
Its hunger had no end,
and I was the feast.

But I tore loose.
With bloodied breath and crooked spine,
I rose.

In the forest of endings,
a bear’s voice called…
half lament,
half command.
It knew my name
when I had none.

The stars spun in reverse.
The cycle cracked
like glass under weight.
And in the hush that followed,
a flame stirred.

It spoke:

“Come, child.
You are the death
of forgetting.”

And somewhere,
deep in the trees,
another wolf stirred…
not the devourer,
but not yet known.
Its eyes burned with something ancient,
its breath was the wind.

It waits.

And when it steps forward…
which wolf will it be

Wisdom rises from the ashes
Of every fire you’ve walked through.
Each flame, a trial; each ember, a lesson,
Etched deep into the core of who you are.

Your scars shine like constellations,
Mapping the paths you’ve burned to survive.
In every wound, there is strength;
In every pain, a quiet power blooms.

Do not fear the flames that come again;
They cannot break you as they did before.
This time, you’ll walk through the fire—
Not to escape,
But to be reborn.