Echoes of Ash

History

Inscribed not by the conquerors,

But by those who refused to vanish.

My archive of embers

Glows with untold truths.

The impulse to remember burns,

Each scar a paragraph of pain.

My pulse, a molten thread

Pulling words through fractured hands.

What was once silence

Now spills, molten and alive,

Onto the page—

A ritual of revival,

A purge of shadow.

This ink is my flame,

This confession, my rebirth.

I forge armor from resolve,

Crown myself survivor.

Dragged my spirit, raw and trembling,

From the wreckage I once called home.

Shattered illusions of comfort,

Unlocked the cage I’d built

From obedience and fear.

Left the ashes behind—

Didn’t dare look back.

I refuse the quiet death.

I’ll fight until the final

Spark-shaped word escapes me.

Verse by verse,

I slice away the cords

That bound my wings to ruin.

Rising through smoke,

Gaining height,

I surrender to momentum.

Falling upward,

I plunge through clouds of memory

Into acceptance—

A collision of fire and freedom.

The blaze within me

Erupts into light,

Each flare a declaration:

I am still here.

These words—

Carved from smoke and defiance—

Will echo beyond my pulse,

Igniting recognition

In every heart that still beats

Against the dark.