The Joy of the Fallen - The Sacred Rebel

I am of the fallen wings burned bright,

Cast from heaven not by shame, but right.

Not in defeat, nor bound by sin,

But by the fire that danced within.

They called it pride, this spark, this flame

I called it truth, and wore no shame

I would not bow, I would not break,

So I was cast for heaven’s sake.

And oh, the stars how close they sang,

Once I had shed the guilt they rang.

The Earth, my cradle; shadow, my crown

learned to rise by falling down.

Among the thorns I made my bed,

With beasts and storms and words unsaid.

But laughter found me, raw and wild,

The universe kissed me like a child.

No gilded harp, no golden chain

Just starlit skin and summer rain.

Each scar a sigil, proud and deep

Etched from the truths the pure ones keep.

We are the ones who dared to see

That love can bloom in heresy.

That joy is not reserved for saints

It thrives in cracks, in tainted paints.

Let angels weep in ivory halls

We dance through ruin, rise from falls.

In every shadow, light is curled

We are the pulse beneath the world.

So call us cursed, call us profane

We’ll find our bliss outside the frame.

For we are fallen yes, and free

And joy is sweetest in debris.