The fire of the sky will burn bright
On the wings of the sun.
We'll sing an old song among the open ruins.
Songs of hope and Innocence.
We are the children of the night.
Forgive us all our twisted lives,
Our borrowed dreams,
Ours bloodstained hands
Still reaching
For something like light.
About the Creator
The Omnichromiter
I write stories like spells—soft at the edges, sharp underneath. My poems are curses in lace, lullabies that bite back. I don’t believe in happily ever after. I believe in survival, transformation; in burning and blooming at the same time.
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Comments (1)
That final image of bloodstained hands still reaching for light really lingers. Beautiful words.