Sage Of The Shadows

Fire swallowed shadows whole, with hunger sharp and lean,
Its breath, a hiss of blistered silk, ran hot and serpentine.
It licked the bones of eastern skies where light once dared to lie,
And scorched the morning’s golden limbs with one unblinking eye.

It feasted slow on silent dreams, each tender thread unwound,
Crushing their whispered, winged escape into the ashen ground.
The soil split like shattered skin beneath its crawling tread,
A battlefield of burnt-out stars, where even hope played dead.

It mocked the flicker in the dark—the brave, the soft, the kind,
Like wolves that howl at weary moons just to unmake the mind.
Its flame, a forge of furious want, no mercy in its mold,
It burned not just to warm the world, but to command, control.

Its tongue, a viper’s velvet edge, slipped deep behind the bone,
To stir the marrow’s quiet doubt, to crown the self alone.
Each heartbeat stoked the blazing need to crush what dared resist,
A tyrant clothed in holy light, with ash upon its fist.

It drank from wells of faith and grief, then turned them into smoke,
It bled the songs from silver throats until no voices spoke.
Its hands—so hot they wore the shape of every soul they seared—
Could not recall the names they burned, nor if they once had feared…