Ash and Echoes

He bore no crown, yet stood like stone, Where cities wept and stars had flown. His hammer rang where silence grew, For those who fell, he always knew. They called him Hero, bright but blind— He never asked what lay behind. Ash and echoes, bones in sand, Worn-down names in fractured land. They sell their swords with broken grace, Save one who walks with steady face. Whispersteel He moved like dusk between two breaths, With laughter carved from quiet deaths. A blade of art, a mind asleep, He danced where pain forgot to weep. A waxed façade, a ghost in bloom— A fading flower before the tomb. Ash and echoes, bones in sand, Worn-down names in fractured land. They sell their swords with broken grace, Save one who walks with his disgrace. No one remembers where he stood, A shadow’s echo cloaked in wood. His hair was snow, his breath was hush, He left no wound, he left no rush. He moved like guilt with sharpened claws— And vanished like unspoken laws. Ash and echoes, bones in sand, Worn-down names in fractured land. They sell their swords with broken grace, Save one who walks with silent pace. She carried storms inside her hand, A spark of grief in no man’s land. She whispered truth through wire and coil, And watched the world through silent toil. Her bolts sang of what won’t last— And burned the future through the past. And so they walk, a shattered tide, Not saints, not fiends, but those who bide. Each blade a vow, each coin a scar, Each step beneath a broken star. Small was the one with hungry gaze, Who spoke in tones of other days. His mind a maze of sparks and light, He counted stars to dream at night. He kissed the edge of every law, And called it beauty, cracked with awe. Ash and echoes, bones in sand, Forgotten dreams in broken hands. They walk for shins, through dust and flame, Save one who walks… and speaks no name.