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Unbent by Whispered Fangs
Let them speak in poisoned tongues,
Carving doubts from borrowed lies.
Their words are ash upon the wind,
A choir of crows that never flies.
I walk a road they cannot see,
Lit by scars and broken vows.
Each step is carved in blood and will,
Not in the fear they scream aloud.
They call my purpose heresy,
A sin stitched into shadowed skin.
But truth is forged in silent fire,
Not bent by those who rot within.
Their hatred gnaws, yet finds no bone,
For I am stone beneath the rain.
The path I chose was paid in loss,
And sealed with suffering and pain.
So let them howl at what I am,
Let envy wear a righteous face.
I do not stray for barking ghosts—
I walk the dark, and keep my pace.
For when their voices fade to dust,
And all their venom turns to none,
I will still stand where I began,
Unbroken. Unbowed. Unundone.
