Through the Graves of Godhood

Some wounds close.

Others become doorways.

This poem stands in the second category.

There is a man walking through ruins, and the ruins are not only stone. They are promises, faith, trust. The temples have already fallen. What remains is vow.

The blade he carries is not hunger for blood. It is memory. It remembers what mercy forgot.

His grief does not spill. It burns inward. It sharpens.

There is something terrifying about steadiness. Anger exhausts itself. But steadiness? It reshapes the world.

When he raises steel, he does not rage.

He stands.

And fate, struck speechless, bends.

This poem is not asking whether heaven will answer.

It is asking what happens when heaven fails.

And whether love, once wounded, becomes law.

Read the full poem and analysis tomorrow 14th: https://alkonda.com/2026/03/14/through-the-graves-of-godhood/

© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite