The Wake of Joan: The Spirit Reclaimed

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Village dark, a young girl hears the call

The bells grow heavy as the night draws close

The earth stays mute beneath her naked feet


She learns her place is silence, bread, and womb

Her worth is weighed by fathers, priests, and law

Her voice is sin before it finds a name


The altar speaks with rules carved into stone

God’s mercy wears the face of punishment

Belief is taught to kneel before the rod


She kneels where wheat bends low before the wind

The saints ignite like sparks inside her blood

Her fear turns bright and hardens into faith


She yields to love, not to the grip of law

Her soul bows only where compassion lives

She serves no god who rules through threat and fire


She learns that heaven does not crave her chains

That faith is warmth, not fear dressed up as truth

Her prayer breathes free beyond enforced belief


She leaves the hearth, the spindle, and the rule

From kitchen walls, her footsteps reach the road

Her breath disrupts the order of the world


She walks the road of men in borrowed steel

From stage to field, her voice becomes command

Yet still her will outruns the drum of war


The captains stare, the soldiers lower eyes

A girl commands what banners failed to hold

They kneel to fire they do not understand


The councils meet beneath the vaulted roof

Their books grow loud with fear they will not name

They call her love a crime that must be burned


They bind her hands with rope and scripture tight

Not faith, but rule decides what truth may live

Where love is chained, the throne begins to crack


The morning lifts its pale and patient light

The stake stands waiting like a borrowed crown

The flame is fed by laws written by men


The fire climbs high but breaks against her voice

Her name cuts sharp and splits the smoke in two

A woman stands where kingdoms learn to fall


From ash and bone, their voices rise again

In fields and looms, in kitchens dark with smoke

Their lives persist where history looks away


Centuries pass, yet still the question stands:

Is love allowed-or only ruled belief?

Who draws the line between the home and world?


From kitchen to the stage, they claim the light

From stage to field, they shoulder public weight

Their presence breaks the grammar of old power


They choose to love, but never bow to rule

They keep devotion free from forced command

No heart belongs to law without consent


Once fire burned the bodies of the brave

Now silence guards the borders of ambition

The stake survives where fear controls the path


A road breaks open where the old one ends

Not carved by crowns, nor sealed by ancient law

But laid by hands that choose their forward step


A door swings wide where none were meant to stand

No priest decides who enters or who stays

The key is held by conscience, not by fear


No single girl now carries all the flame

The fire moves through millions without name

Each woman walks as Joan once dared to walk


Each woman bears a spark the world once feared

Their scars remember Joan without her ash

Their courage crowns the road they build ahead


Let no one name your limits but your will

Serve only love that sets your spirit free

Stand crowned in truth-no rule can bind you now

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