At thirteen, the road was a stretch of gray,
An ordinary path on an ordinary day.
But fate was cruel, its hand unseen,
And in a moment, it split the serene.
The truck skidded, metal screamed in the air,
Glass shards falling like frozen despair.
The world turned over, time slowed to still,
And silence descended—a deafening chill.
I fell into blackness, a void so vast,
Where time dissolved and moments passed.
Not heaven’s gates nor angel’s glow,
But something darker stirred below.
From shadow’s depths, a figure rose,
A presence sharp, where fire flows.
Not a demon with horns or wicked guise,
But a voice of power, ancient and wise.
“Child,” it spoke, its tone profound,
“Here in this place where souls unbound,
I show you threads of what might be—
The paths unwalked, your destiny.”
And there I saw a thousand ways,
A thousand fates through future days.
I watched myself in glory, in pain,
In triumph’s sun, in sorrow’s rain.
A warrior, broken yet unyielding,
A creator, crafting worlds from feeling.
A soul ablaze with fire untamed,
Its light both cursed and yet proclaimed.
“This is the truth,” it said to me,
“That power is born from adversity.
The flame within is yours to wield,
To conquer darkness, to never yield.”
Its words were sparks, igniting my core,
A heat I’d not known, an unspoken lore.
And as the visions began to fade,
It leaned in close, its will conveyed:
“The infernal flame is not done with you,
There is more to shape, more to do.
Your time is borrowed, your life’s a gift—
Go now, rise, through shadow and rift.”
I woke in the cold, pale hospital light,
A broken body but spirit alight.
The memory burned, etched in my soul,
Of the force that showed me a greater whole.
Not angelic hands, not heaven’s throne,
But a fire within, raw and my own.
The infernal whisper, dark yet true,
Said, “Rise again—the world needs you.”
