The iron enters bone in thread,
the void leans close with iron breath;
the sky turns black and bows its head.
A charged wind keens through flesh and grief
storm-fields align the hidden core;
the clouds split wide in cosmic sheath.
The nails conduct the starless roar,
each pulse a drag against the night;
the world tilts on its trembling floor.
Blood-iron wakes to rising light,
drawn upward by the storm’s decree;
the beam shakes with a deepened might.
The thunder forms a gravity
pulling through seams no eye can trace;
the field bends time’s geometry.
A final spark in vacant space
reverses night’s imploding frame;
the heavens tear in soundless grace.
Blood-iron hums its ancient claim,
a current older than the tomb,
ascending through the stellar flame.
We feel release within the gloom,
as iron tears from wood and plea
the sky becomes a widening womb.
And what ascends is pulled to be
within the field none can avoid:
Star to iron, and iron to He.
Arisen flesh of the iron void
Thorn and Benediction 
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