Some roads are forgotten by maps but remembered by blood and breath. This is a vow for the unseen, the seekers, the dreamers. The ones who walk the hidden way and light it for others. Not all chains are seen. Not all fires burn with flame. This is the path of the veiled ones – the dreamers who dream the real.
This poem weaves the journey of a soul who walks beyond the illusions of the waking world, answering the ancient call that hums beneath the earth, behind the stars, and within the blood. It speaks to the breaking of chains: the masks, the bindings of false stories, the hollow promises of the asleep world. It is both war cry and solemn vow — to see with unclouded eyes, to listen to the stones, to remember the language of mist, flame, and bone.
Rooted in elemental mysticism, “The Chainbreaker’s Oath” moves through visions of bark and river, crow and storm, unmaking the false sky stitch by stitch. It is an awakening and a summoning: a call to others lost in shadow to rise, to remember, and to reweave the true song of existence.
At its heart, this poem is a testament to the ones who dare — those who walk the hidden paths not only for themselves but to light the way for others. A vow whispered through ancient runes, living rivers, and unfurled leaves. A drumbeat in the dark. A hand held out across the dream.
This is for all who have walked the ashes to birth new stars. For all who seek. For all who remember.
The Chainbreaker’s Oath
I walk where roads forget their names,
where haunted winds ignite sacred flames.
The books, the looks, the silent crooks,
I leave behind their rusted hooks.
I cry to stars, I roar to skies,
We will not fall, in defiance we rise.
I tear the seam beneath the dream
And beam the truth with blazing eyes.
I taste the mist and breathe the root,
I drink in dreams the stones transmute.
For bark is bone and stream is skin,
the deeper songs all call me in.
Not by the gloss, nor gleam or guise,
for I seek the truth beneath the lies.
The petals rot as thorns awake,
I walk the path the veiled ones take.
By thread of stars and molten breath,
I’ve slipped the chains of common death.
I bend the strands, I knot, I weave,
I unstitch the sky the blind believe.
By blood and breath, by bone and seal,
I swear to forge what they must feel.
This spell is writ in branch and bark,
in river’s curl and raven’s arc.
By ancient runes no hand has penned,
they breathe, they sing, they twist, they bend.
The moss inscribes the sacred vow,
the wind chants rites the stones allow.
Each leaf unfurls a secret tongue,
of eternal songs unsaid, unsung.
The universal script of flame,
of root, of wave, and whispered name;
not scribed by ink, nor carved by hand,
but born of breath and blood of land.
Each leaf a world, each storm a rhyme,
each crow a keeper of cyclical time.
The rivers murmur, “Nothing’s true,”
but the rocks reply, “…and all is you.”
And I, through this living, breathing book,
walk with the unseen, we shift and look.
I am ghost amongst a dreamless crowd,
whose heads are bowed, whose hearts are cowed.
Drifting through shadows and calling them day,
whilst cursing in verses, but know not what they say.
Their eyes see walls; they call them skies,
they do not hear the earth’s replies.
How strange to walk amongst waking sleepers,
yet touch the roots that run much deeper.
To see the masks, the hollow plays,
and hear the world behind the haze.
The crooks who steal, the books that bind,
the polished lies, poor lost ones find;
they fall away like ash, like rain,
before the gaze that breaks the chain.
For I walk the path that others fear,
to make the hidden voices clear.
I summon flame from frozen stone,
to call the roots that crack the bone.
I write in mist between the worlds,
my silent banners now unfurl.
For I crave the magick, raw and red,
as I kiss the living and court the dead.
I weave the black between the stars,
I unmake walls and shatter bars.
I sow the bark, I birth the flame,
I call the lost ones home by name.
By crooked look and stolen page,
I’ve freed myself, I abolished the cage.
I hold the thread, the seed, the sea,
as the hidden songs awaken in me.
By thorn and ash, by breath and sky,
by roots below and wings up high,
I tear the gate, I break the binds,
I carve a beacon for seeking minds.
I raise the call, I strike the drum,
I sing the song that wakes the numb.
I burn the shroud from clouded sight,
and set ablaze the sleeping night.
I crack the stones, I stir the flame,
I carve the soul into its name.
I bleed, I burn, I breathe, I rise,
to birth new stars within dead skies.
I am the dream that dreams the real.
I am the wound, and I am the heal.
I am the flame, the root, the stone,
and none who seek shall walk alone.