We carved the dawn from broken stone,
Named it gift, named it law,
Built our dreams with trembling hands
On faults we never saw.
The fire that makes the mountains rise
Learns hunger as it grows,
Every seed remembers blood
Before the flower knows.
Creation cuts much deeper
Than the ruin it replaces,
Every world we dare to shape
Still screams with borrowed faces.
Destruction ends the suffering,
Creation makes it sure—
For what we make must always bear
The wounds we gave it first.
We crowned the light, we taught it names,
Called order something pure,
But every rule was stitched with fear
To keep the lie secure.
The ashes never ask for more,
They rest, they finally sleep,
But what is born must learn to ache,
To hope, to fail, to bleed.
Creation cuts much deeper
Than the blade that breaks apart,
It binds the world to endless need
And calls it having heart.
Destruction closes open wounds,
Creation tears them wide—
It teaches pain to live forever,
And names that pain “alive.”
To unmake is swift and honest,
A silence clean and true,
But to create is to decide
Who suffers—and how long they do.
So sing of fire that ends the night,
Not light that learns to scar,
For every star we dare to birth
Remembers who we are.
Destruction leaves an empty field,
Creation leaves the curse—
The world survives the ending,
But creation makes it hurt worse.
