Unfit for Heaven
Her kind named her weak, a flaw—night.
Disposable, bone-thin, unblessed—night.
Fate left her cracked on hostile stone,
under an alien, starving sky—night.
No bright warriors came, no oath, no tone;
only a human, half-dead, drawn—night.
He lifted her onto his back,
and would not set her down—night.
They crossed poison deserts, copper-dry;
lungs burning on each stolen breath—night.
Fire-storms tore their borrowed shelter,
ash kissing lips like quiet death—night.
They threaded empire-ruins, iron-mouthed,
where old crowns rusted into blight—night.
Survival hardened into trust,
a gentle chain in gritted fight—night.
Loyalty grew fanged; mercy grew wings;
their shadows braided tight—night.
Maybe love, dangerous and clean,
took root in scars, in shared fright—night.
Then the twist: he was her rescue.
She was his sentence, his light—night.
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