We Called This Home

On the first night under the fallen throne, We braced a door with splintered pews and stone. Rain crossed the palace, ash filled every breath, Then someone knocked who wore our face of death. “The living drove me from the northern road. I know no hearth. I have nowhere to go.” I raised the bar. The others made a place. We shared a cloak and asked them for their name. Above, the broken towers held our past. Below, we chose what memory would last. Come in, come in - there’s room beneath the crown. We build our home where all the walls fell down. Keep every name the grave could not erase. The kingdom died, but we still have a place. They called us Forsaken. We called this home. We stitched old banners into winter beds And carved lost neighbors’ names above our heads. We drew the vanished market on the wall, The baker’s door, the square, the chapel hall. No guard returned. No family came near. The world saw only hunger, rot, and fear. So stone by stone, where royal shadows end, We made one law: the lost come in as friends. We could not raise the kingdom as it stood, But we could keep the pieces that were good. Come in, come in - there’s room beneath the crown. We build our home where all the walls fell down. Keep every name the grave could not erase. The kingdom died, but we still have a place. They called us Forsaken. We called this home. Another knock came down the ruined stair. Before I moved, the one we sheltered there Raised up the bar and held the doorway wide: “You need not face the second dark outside.” No pulse returned. No morning made us whole. Yet in that room, the dead reclaimed a soul. Come in, come in - there’s room beneath the crown. Bring every broken memory underground. Keep every name the grave could not erase. The kingdom died, but we still have a place. They called us Forsaken. We called this home. Lantern by lantern, under shattered stone - Not who we were, yet no longer alone. They called us Forsaken. We called this home.