The Smoke Knows

Behind him, the symbols do not sleep.

The walls remember.
The drum remembers.
The ancestors do not clap loudly.
They observe.

And when a son of Kiskeya stands still enough, they whisper with him…

The Mystic Warrior’s Prayer

Lord,

Do not make me softer than the road I must claim,
Do not make me colder than the blood in my name.

Let my heart stay tender where mercy is art,
Let my spine stay iron where shadows depart.

Teach me to stand where the thunder is trained,
Where fire becomes wisdom and silence is gained.

Let my breath be a temple, my patience a blade,
Let my wounds become lanterns where night used to fade.

Let my horns break walls that were built out of lies,
Let my hands raise homes where the broken still rise.

Do not crown me with comfort, or feed me with praise,
Crown me with purpose that survives darker days.

When anger comes knocking with smoke in its throat,
Let prayer hold the river and keep me afloat.

When pride wants the throne and the soul starts to burn,
Let humility enter and teach me to turn.

Let ancestors whisper through drum, dust, and flame,
Reminding my spirit I carry more than a name.

I am not here to conquer the weak with my might,
I am here to make darkness remember the light.

So when the world mocks what my silence became,
Let my becoming walk forward and answer with flame.

And when my last battle folds back into sky,
Let them say:

He walked through the valley...

and left it brighter than he found it.