The Phoenix
is the purest symbol of radiance:
Unwavering in its flight,
Always above the clouds,
Its luminosity intense as lightning,
Listen—it shrieks!
Suspended in the sky,
a combustion consumes
the centuries of fire in each feather,
a profane discoloration withers its wings.
Once a miracle of crimson,
now mere embers cling to its breast,
and it vanishes in a
cloud of ash
that descends
and collects in a pile
under an incoming storm cloud.
Damp, cold, midnight cinders
bury its trifling remains
like a cocoon.
Under the weight of darkness,
removed of its light,
unable to see,
its brittle bones and beak
reconstruct its skeleton.
Winter comes and freezes
the pile of Phoenix ashes.
Then spring sees a shuffle
among the smoky powder.
Then comes summer.
And with a small spark,
FIRE CATCHES!
the Phoenix rises, rebirthed
in mythological splendor!
It pierces the sky in
its legendary course!
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