The Ashes That Sing

I have danced with the ruin,

kissed the sharp edge of regret,

but no more shall I sip

from the poisoned wells of yesterday—

no more shall I befriend my own undoing.

The night once held me hostage,

a prisoner in the echoes of my sins,

but dawn came, a silent prophet,

whispering in hues of gold:

"Rise, for the sun does not beg the past to shine."

I have burned the bridges of sorrow,

let their embers write new verses in the wind.

I am not a ghost in my own life,

I am the architect of a road unknown,

a traveler on the back of redemption’s wings.

Let the world murmur its doubts,

let them paint my scars with their own fears,

but I am not who I was—

I am the thunder in a sky once silent,

the seed that cracked stone to touch the sun.

So hear me now, O shadows of yesterday,

I do not kneel at your altar anymore.

I walk forward, not to return—

for even the broken bird learns to fly,

and I, too, have wings unseen.

©Bunguswa™