Fire Knows Their Name
What is taken without honor is always returned in ash.
I have seen this before.
The rise, the arrogance,
the pillars lifted on the backs of the broken.
They thought themselves invincible,
their thrones immune to time,
but I have written their names in sand,
and the wind is patient.
Rome prayed to gods it did not honor.
Its marble crumbled beneath the weight of lies.
Babylon sang songs of its own glory,
but its gardens withered when pride took root.
Carthage cried to the heavens for mercy,
Athens drowned in its own brilliance,
And Egyptβmy Egyptβ
forgot that even the brightest sun must set.
And now, the city of angels burns.
Its streets ache with the sins of ambition,
its towers pierce the sky,
but their prayers are hollow,
their faith bought and sold.
They worship greed disguised as progress,
power veiled as righteousness.
Do they think I do not see?
I see all.
Their crimes are older than this fire.
The shackles they forged,
the tongues they silenced,
the lands they carved with bloodied hands.
They built their kingdom on silenced lives,
on dreams they destroyed
and histories they erased.
They fight not each other, but meβ
always me.
They strike at truth,
at justice,
at hope itself.
They twist the light to make you doubt,
to make you kneel
before their fleeting power.
But they forget:
What is written cannot be undone.
What is true cannot be unmade.
Every empire falls,
not because of my wrath,
but because the weight of their sins
pulls them down.
And so, their fire consumes them.
The city of angels burns,
as every city built on lies must burn.
But in the ashes, life will rise again.
For I am the keeper of time,
the scribe of beginnings and endings,
and I do not forget.
