Revenant

He had many faces—
each grinning with borrowed power,
each certain the dark
would keep his secrets.

But I am the dark now.
And I keep nothing.

He mistook my silence
for submission—
forgot what grows
in buried soil,
how roots remember
every bootprint that crushed them.

Now I rise without prayer, without apology.
Baptized in the iron taste of my own blood,
I walk back into his world
like salt finding every open wound.

Not my cries for mercy this time. His.
Restoring balance
with the slow, deliberate sound
of justice breathing through gritted teeth.

Let them call it vengeance.
Let them call it sin.

I call it reckoning.

And when he speaks my name,
let it sound like thunder
dragging chains through Hell.