Ashes and Beginnings

I see nothing but the ashes of my burnt-out passion,
embers flickering faintly, a ghost of what once was.
I feel nothing but the dampness of infinity,
tears that bleed into the void—
the cheeks of the forgotten sky weeping along with me.

I hear not the chanting of the far-off sermon,
its whispers float, just beyond reach,
a hymn so soft it evades my ears
like a secret I was never meant to hear.
I knew what I loved once, I hope love can last,
but the religions they taught have all collapsed.

Too many questions, too few answers,
crushing my thirst for proof, my desperate quench for truth.
But home they came—those old beliefs,
bearing the weight of crumbling altars,
the gods and goddesses of light and dark
arriving with nimble grace, restoring what was lost.

Renewing all with their quiet nods,
ashes turn to the delicate green of new beginnings.
The foundations of falsehoods crack and sway,
but in their ruins, I find a steady ground
for something more primal, more real—
a faith not in the heavens,
but in the pulse of the earth beneath my feet.

The preserver’s touch comes to those in need,
to those who wander through the haze of doubt,
and the dawn breaks through like a whispered promise.
For even in the darkness, there are sparks,
tiny seeds of belief waiting to grow.

The gods I once trusted have faded away,
but I stand here with my hands in the soil,
feeling the heartbeat of a world that remains
long after the temples have fallen.
I steady my faith, not in what was preached,
but in the quiet strength of the earth,
in the roots that hold firm,
in the wildness that will not be tamed.

Ashes to hope, despair to dawn,
I rebuild from the ruins,
a new foundation upon which to stand—
where the light and darkness dance,
and the power of earth renews me.