SOUL TRAP | Poetry
He hangs between the worlds of dusk and flame,
A watcher with no master, no true name.
Wings like bruises lit by holy fire,
A ghost made glass, and soldered with desire.
His claws clutch tight a vial’s final breath,
A lantern full of longing, love, and death.
But see — the seal is broken. Chains unwind.
He opens what the world has sought to bind.
No prison now — the souls slip through the seams,
Like whispered songs or half-forgotten dreams.
Each shard reflects the lives he’s set to free,
And in their flight, he finds his own release.
So call him monster, call him myth, or flame —
But know: he carries sovreignty without shame.
A soul trap once… now sentinel of light,
Who bleeds in color just to make things right.

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