Xy the N: A Revenant’s Rise — Part II | Joe Garvey, The PoetKing

The second chapter in Joe Garvey’s “Xy the N: A Revenant’s Rise” series — The PoetKing’s covenant poem, forged from slag and flame, prophecy and ruin.

Beneath a sky flayed raw, I claw my throne from slag.

A revenant reborn…my breath, a war-torn flag.

Gunpowder gospel. My tongue, a rusted blade.

Each step a quake, cracking crypts where heroes fade.

No minstrel’s lute, but a hammer’s hymn I wield,

forging odes from cinder-soil where broken banners yield.

Seraphs shrink from my snarl, their halos bent to tin.

I torch their gospel’s rot…let the holy ruin begin.

My fists clutch a lexicon looted from lost graves,

knuckles inked with runes, I scribe on splintered staves.

Each word a wound, a war-cry carved in grime,

I dance where angels drowned, on ruin’s shattered rhyme.

The earth groans under my tread, a dirge of dust and dread.

My shadow births a horde from skulls where silence bled.

I’m the cracked glass of gods, reflecting ruin’s gleam,

a knell for kingdoms, their last crown a fevered dream.

From night’s black bellows, I hammer a crown of cinders,

each spike a scream, each jewel a jester’s whispers.

I guzzle wrath distilled in war’s own ancient cask,

spitting prophecies that strip the moon’s pale mask.

Rivers rebel, fists against the dam.

I am the revenant spark…the sham unshammed.

My laugh, a landslide. My jest, a jagged scar.

The spark that sets ablaze the heavens’ brittle bar.

No siren sings my saga, no gold gilds my grit.

I stalk the alleys of ash where the fallen sit.

My lines bleed fire, a ballad born of brawl…

a blade of verse that cuts the sanctimonious thrall.

The cosmos cracks as I brand my mark in soot,

a sigil scrawled in embers where the stars take root.

I am the dawn’s decay, the riddle in the rot…

a revenant’s last laugh, but a scar that can’t be forgot.