Molten Ore

It laughs against the gale, refusing to be splintered Self-carved by its own fire, a core of molten ore It draws a burning line, where all false maps are rendered To dust. That fire’s mine. I kneel to nothing more. My depths are not a chart for any hand to measure We forge our own damn current, break the river’s law These words are not a plea; they’re declarations, treasure They are the only oath. The only truth I saw. A citadel of scorn, I raised its bones in you We watch their painted suns die, and ignite our own anew Let every borrowed light be bled out from the view This fortress is the world. All other worlds withdrew. I let their stolen tunes dissolve into the static Their hoarded, dusty keys can’t fit a single door But I have tasted iron And I won’t be locked anymore. Two anvils break as one beneath the hammer's flaw This is the primal cut, the unasked-for, first cause They are the only oath. The final, killing clause. What shatters us, rebuilds us closer than before. A citadel of scorn, I raised its bones in you We watch their painted suns die, and ignite our own anew Let every borrowed light be bled out from the view This fortress is the world. All other worlds withdrew. I never memorized their hymns of fear and panic I burned the scrolls that listed what I should adore I let their borrowed noise become a dull, grey static Their hoarded, rusted keys can’t fit a single door But I have tasted iron. I know.