(Spoken or half-sung. Built for rhythm, space, and slow ignition.)
Desired.
Not for pleasure—
but for purpose.
A pull that wouldn’t release.
Trained.
Body tempered.
Mind sharpened.
Spirit silenced.
Fortified.
Steel breath.
Stone resolve.
Weakness burned away.
Suppressed.
Connection.
Memory.
Even love.
Everything was given
for this.
For duty.
For the unknown.
For the pulse
of what the verse might hold.
Rock outside.
Jell inside.
Fragile.
Burning.
Becoming.
Will this metal form
reach the verse?
Will the vacancy
echo when it’s gone?
Tears fall—
not from pain,
but for all forsaken
in pursuit of a single calling.
Now—
the thrust.
The sky climbs back.
The black.
The beauty.
The billboards of stars.
So distant.
So endless.
So vast.
You never see their writing
until you’re already
on the way
to the verse.
And now—
this question rings inside the shell:
Why did I forsake it all?
What… has been done?