ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ; ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴇʟʟ
Born to shadows, draped in pride,
A serpent’s mark, a name held high.
Yet in his heart, a whisper grew,
A question none but he once knew.
He walked the path, he played the part,
A soldier bound, a guarded heart.
But truth, like tides, could not be chained,
And love outshone what blood ordained.
By moonlit waves, he faced his fate,
A silent war, a choice too great.
No songs would sing, no tales be spun,
Yet still he fought—still he won.
No golden crown, no hero’s grace,
Just waters cold, a dark embrace.
Yet stars that fall still burn so bright,
A silver flame in endless night.
— noura