I am created by fire, but not burned by my creator. I am the sand of life, and the remains of death. I am the material of man, and all shall return to me after their time.

Poets use me in their poems, though I am not made of words or metaphors. I am a living thing, though mostly pass by unseen. I'm known to be an omen, though I helped mankind with their dead. People call me by two names, though they are not synonymous.

I hold back a force that never rests, With walls of strength and no requests. I do not speak, yet scream I might, If cracks appear and show the light.

we show the way to those stray, we make the dark of void bit gray. from faraway you watch and thus, you always see a past version of us. no gears, no sail, though we run on fuel, we carry so much like unworldly mules

I wear no chains and walk with pride. My cloak is striped, my strength doesn't hide. Rarely seen, but certainly heard. What am I born for, stealth and rush?