Upon the hill where darkness fed,
I faced the demon of fire and dread,
She rose, an angel crowned in flame,
A wraith of greed, too small to name.
She bared her teeth, she lashed the sky,
She shrieked, “Bow down, or surely die!”
She promised love but gave only pain,
She wove her chains from smoke and shame.
“Stay small,” she hissed. “Stay in your place.
Bend low, and hide your foolish grace.
Dare not to dream, nor rise, nor soar—
Be less, be less, be evermore.”
Her fury scorched, her talons tore,
But deep within, I held one more:
A flame she could not reach nor snare—
A spark too fierce for her despair.
She raged. She roared. She split the stone.
But still, I rose. Still, I stood alone.
Her fires burned, her shadows screamed—
Yet through it all, my spirit gleamed.
For I had seen her truest shape:
Not titan, queen, nor fiery fate—
But something brittle, small, and blind,
A ghost too frail to free her mind.
Her power was a house of sand,
Her hatred born of her own hand.
She feared the light she could not steal,
The life she lacked, the joy I feel.
I raised my staff to the sky.
Bruised and burned, I would not die.
And with a voice of thundered stone,
I claimed the fire as my own.
She faltered. Withered. Broke apart—
A tiny thing without a heart.
Her roar became a dying sigh—
A last small whimper from a lie.
And so I rose with stars in flight,
A sovereign born of soul and light.
Not chained, not caged, not bowed, not torn—
But blazing brighter than the morn.
O you who walk in shadow’s gaze,
Beware the ones who dim your blaze.
Their greed is dust, their power thin—
They fear the storm you hold within.
Rise higher. Shine fierce. Strike through the night.
You are the dawn—You are the light.
