Phoenix

Death holds no eternal state for me
as I lie in soft smouldering ashes,
streaked with dark coal,
crooning a soft song of love.

Fire that burns
does not hurt me-
It sears the pattern of Life
on my immortal soul.

I am rendered alive,
no matter how I die-
for the fire will keep me,
for I am its slave.

My feathers glow against cold clouds
as I fly through unending night-
there is no pain greater
that of Life relentless, refusing rest.

I cannot close my flaming red eyes
for the fire that burns
burns within- I cannot cry,
for my tears are dry.

I yearn to end this persistent existence
of flapping tired brilliant wings,
yet even as I cry my dying song
I emerge whole, from beneath ashes stained with gold.

12 June 2006