(An Epic of Desire, Wisdom, and Ruin)
Prologue: The Breath Before Fire
Before the world was weighed with names,
before the stars began their games,
there came a breath — not god, not man,
but the first wild question: “Can?”
Can light become more than it is?
Can hunger dream? Can shadow kiss?
And from that question, fierce and free,
was born the pulse of what will be.
It beat once, twice — the void awoke,
and through its calm, a longing spoke:
“I am the heart that wants to start,
the flame, the ache, the wanting part.”
Thus was born the trinity,
that binds the soul to destiny:
Desire, Wisdom, Ruin — three,
the flesh, the mind, the memory.
Book I: The Ballad of the Wanting Heart (Desire)
The heart wants what the heart wants still—
and that’s the root of every ill.
It claws through creed, through law, through name,
and wraps its sin in sacred flame.
From void and pulse came Desire first,
the hunger blessed, the holy thirst.
He crowned himself in mortal song,
and swore that craving made no wrong.
He whispered into sleeping clay,
and mortals rose to seize the day.
They carved their love from want alone,
and called each ruin “mine,” “my own.”
They stole for warmth, they killed for more,
they broke the key, unlatched the door.
They burned the truth for what they craved,
and named themselves the ones God saved.
But where Desire walked proud and high,
Wisdom watched with a knowing sigh.
And Ruin, unseen, began to creep,
a shadow born where passions sleep.
Desire danced through mortal years,
with joy and laughter, blood and tears.
He raised empires, he broke the kind,
and left the wise and sane behind.
Until the gods themselves grew weary
of hearts unbound, of dreams too bleary.
They carved a mirror in the sky,
and made Desire look inside.
He saw not beauty, but the scar,
not love fulfilled, but love ajar.
He fell and cried, “I am undone!”
and Ruin whispered, “You’ve begun.”
Book II: The Hymn of Wisdom
Then spoke Wisdom, calm and old,
her eyes the moon, her voice the cold:
“I was the stillness before your flame,
the reason you forgot to name.
I warned you once, I warned you true:
what’s not for you will burn you through.”
She watched the ages twist and turn,
watched temples rise, watched kingdoms burn.
And still she whispered soft and far,
“Remember what you truly are.”
But mortals, lost in fever’s haze,
heard only praise for their own blaze.
They mistook silence for disdain,
and worshiped Want despite the pain.
So Wisdom waited—never gone,
her patience stretched across the dawn.
She knew that Ruin’s reign would fall,
and sorrow cleanse the hearts of all.
When ashes cooled and storms grew thin,
she found the few who’d look within.
To one she said, “Restrain your fire.”
To one, “Let mercy lift you higher.”
To one, “Be still—your wounds will mend.”
To all she murmured, “This is not the end.”
And from her song new peace was sown,
though whispered faint, and rarely known.
For even in the heart’s despair,
Wisdom waits — forever there.
Book III: The Lament of Ruin
Then Ruin rose from ashen halls,
his voice a dirge, his crown of falls.
“I am not evil,” he confessed,
“I am the truth the world suppressed.”
“I walk behind your grand desire,
I am the ash that cools its fire.
Where greed takes root, where envy grows,
I am the bloom that no one chose.”
He spoke to gods, to ghosts, to men,
his words both wound and balm again:
“I never sought to end your kind—
I only mirror heart and mind.
You summon me with every lie,
with every love that learns to die.
You make me king when you forget
the price of want, the weight of debt.”
He gazed upon the mortal sea,
and whispered soft, “You made me be.”
Then bowed his head to Wisdom’s tone,
and said, “They’ll never walk alone.”
For even in their grief and fight,
they carry ruin toward the light.
And though he longed to fade from view,
he knew his shadow must be true.
Epilogue: The Return of the Heart
Now still they live, the mortal kind,
with want and thought entwined.
Desire sleeps, yet sometimes stirs,
when songs recall what once was hers.
Wisdom waits by every gate,
for those who pause before their fate.
And Ruin walks when pride is loud,
a teacher cloaked within the shroud.
Three faces—one eternal chord,
the pulse, the truth, the final word.
For all creation plays its part
within the cycle of the heart.
And should you hear Desire’s cry,
or see dark Ruin passing by—
remember her, the voice apart:
“The wise one rules the wanting heart.”