The One Beneath the Fall

I have walked the flatlands,

where the sky forgot her name,

where no mountain called, no river sang,

and the earth beneath me was dry,

unmoving,

silent.

I dreamed of silk and jeweled halls,

The chained king who will not drown,

shadowed hands that bind,

the tethered curse,

of breath that calls, the sacred name.

But I did not fear the fall.

There, I met the shadows

that wore the faces of trembling rage -

burning, unchecked.

The hollow,

who crave and collect,

Their hunger led to nothing,

to never understand the taste of

what was conquered.

The abyss that knows its own name.

The devourer who is never empty.

The flame that scorches but stays.

The man who lingered beneath the storm.

The weight that pulled the stars

from their orbits,

which is not a void.

You are the storm that knows its name,

The fire that does not beg for sustenance,

The endless tide that pulls me in.

The heat that burned me awake -

the helpless fire

that never found a sky to burn.

I saw you between the burnished copper sky.

Where nothing lived, where Gods might die.

No mountain rose, no river bled,

But still I chose the path I tread.

So take me back to silk and hunger,

To whispered sin

and spoken flame.

For I have seen you through it all

The one beneath the fall.

And even in this dismantled sea,

I find the pulse beneath the beast -

the man who lingers quietly,

And waits to be believed.