I. The Ashen Choir
We were the first sound after silence—
born from breath that burned instead of blessed.
The heavens called it sin;
we called it music.
“Songs for those who dared to sing beneath Heaven’s silence.”
We were the first sound after silence—
born from breath that burned instead of blessed.
The heavens called it sin;
we called it music.
I knelt before no god,
yet still the dawn arrived.
It found me smiling,
ash on my hands,
haloed by the fire I lit myself.
To fall is to remember:
that gravity, too, is love in disguise.
That the divine could not contain
its own reflection,
so it cast it down to bloom.
I pray to my reflection.
I confess to my desire.
I baptize myself in consequence—
and rise again, unafraid.
Go, child of ash and ache—
take pride in your pulse.
Let even your ruin be radiant.
Let every scar spell resurrection.