He stands where heaven’s colors fade,A god remade from light and blade.Feathers burn in borrowed grace,A sinner carved from angel’s face. Chains of gold, a holy lie,Drip like blood from sanctified sky.Once he sang of love divine,Now his gospel tastes like wine. Every breath—an unspoken creed,Every scar—a sacred seed.He fell, not lost, but crowned in flame,For mercy wears another name. He is the fallen, fierce and free,A myth reborn in majesty.Where wings unfold, the heavens break,And truth is all the gods forsake. Beneath his gaze, the saints confess,The beauty born of brokenness.For even ruin learns to rise—A halo forged from…