Lantern and Flame

From pulpits built on brittle lies,  
their words crumble like ash,  
filling the skies with emptiness.  
The sacred chains that once held the meek  
shatter beneath the roar of voices.  
 
A fire smolders in mortal hearts,  
its embers feeding where fear once ruled.  
No idols rise, no gods remain;  
the soul ascends,  
carving its truth from the void.  
Earth takes back its kin,  
unashamed of desire, unafraid of sin.  
 
A lantern sways in the darkness,  
its flame trembling,  
revealing what prophets hid.  
No pearled gates, no thrones of gold—  
only soil, fertile and raw,  
where truths root and grow.  
The descending lights from burning stars,  
cold and distant,  
Fall upon ambient shores.  
They seek no praise,  
bearing witness with silent indifference.  
 
They gaze upon the fallen earth with silent eyes, unshaken  
They offer no grace, no forgiveness, no judgement  
only a savage beauty,  
reflecting the shape of our hunger,  
Our deepest depth.  
 
The pulse of flesh,  
the spark of want,  
a hymn rising from deep within.  
Not from saints or stoics,  
but from open skies and burning hearts.  
Kindness blooms where roots entwine,  
while wrath devours deceit.  
Indulgence whispers its song;  
restraint bows its head.  
It seems every choice once condemned  
becomes a doorway through freedoms stairs,  
they walk softly, when each step offers, enlightenment, wisdom  
knowledge in its path,  
the road less taken.  
 
Through ancient soil,  
fires ash, our simple roots stretch deep entangled,  
entwining with the unseen.  
The winds of our time shift,  
stones turn while mountain lean toward us,  
as if drawn by a force  
older than time.  
A murmur stirs through veins of earth,  
a call rising from hills and plains.  
Desire sculpts the barren clay,  
and night lingers when summoned.  
No angel intervenes;  
only human hands  
shape the world.  
 
The sea without age glimmers, dark and endless,  
its waves carrying secrets.  
Leviathan stirs beneath the tides,  
its power silent,  
its wisdom primal.  
The salt burns against our tongues,  
its songs carve truth into flesh.  
The depths rise,  
freeing the soul,  
and the self emerges,  
unchained from the waves.  
 
A temple rises,  
built of wax and bone.  
Incense curls,  
veils unravel,  
shadows press closer.  
Each word sparks a fire;  
each chant shifts the stars.  
No guardian angel watches here;  
no light spills from heaven.  
Only mortal hands command the dark.  
Flames rise;  
the mortal speaks,  
and the heavens sigh.