Uncategorized

He spoke of passion that kneels in flame –
not the kind that pleads.
He carried fire as faith,
and they gave him to those who feared the heat.

He turned from gold-lined thrones,
chose creed over compromise.
Now debt grips the hands he freed,
chained to the very seats he refused.

He counts broken words –
each promise a dropped coin spinning into dark.
This is how belief decays:
not in doubt, but in delay.

They made his trust a weapon,
and handed him the blade.
Even gods in exile learn –
devotion is the heaviest chain.

They called him fool for holding what they dropped.
Praised his patience, then fed on his quiet grief
like it was tradition.

They crowned his undoing as wisdom earned too late.
said the blaze was always his to carry,
for daring to burn near those who chose the cold.

His silence they praised.
His absence they feasted on –
each scar a prophecy
they never earned the right to read.

But still – he stood.
Scorched, unconsumed,
holding the sacred in silence.

They mistook his ashes for surrender.
He burned cleaner than they ever lived.