Thy crown is not of thorn, but view.

- Lo, where the quiet dares to breathe again,
And time forgets its manners on the floor.
What mortal shape can ever hold its end,
When gods of hunger whisper, “More”?

The bones recall their borrowed tune,
Each joint a clock that mocks the hour.
Faith, unstitched beneath the moon,
Learns what it means to call a body “power.”

Here art and ache are one decree,
And sin wears satin in the dark.
All saints were monsters once, you see,
Until the light mistook their mark.

So bend, O soul, past what was true
Thy crown is not of thorn, but view. -
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Model: @josephine__starr