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Birth Of The Phoenix
Grey flakes
flutter in the mountain breeze,
like burned leaves.
Smells of sulphur.
As the sunrise grips,
glowing red light
awakens the tips of the caldera.
Night is dead.
The day is taken.
Ashes gyre and dance,
swirls like a sea of worms.
Sparks dart.
Crackles sound.
Life from charcoal ground.
Scarlet feathers form
as birds hail dawn.
A gold missile streaks the sky.
An iron beak cries.
New wings extend in majesty.
I live.
I am alive.
I am born.
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