Fire Bird: 1
I burned and I broke,
and I choked on the smoke,
of the life that I knew
when the fire awoke.
The embers glowed red,
where the old feathers shed,
and I wept in the ashes
of the things that were dead.
The night held me close,
as the wild flames rose,
and they swallowed the sorrow
that nobody knows.
I screamed at the sky,
asking, Why must I die?
But the stars only watched
as the sparks learned to fly.
So I sank into flame,
with no title, no name,
while the fire stripped away
every shadow and shame.
Then the darkness grew thin,
and a warmth stirred within,
where the ending had been
something new could begin.
From the ash and the dust,
from the ruin and rust,
rose a heart still beating,
though broken by trust.
New feathers unfurled,
bright as dawn on the world,
catching light in their wings
as they opened and curled.
And I rose from the pyre,
carried high by the fire,
not the bird I had been,
but the one I’d acquire.
For a phoenix must fall,
must lose everything, all,
before answering fate’s
ancient, desperate call.
So if someday I fade,
and my bright colors gray,
I won’t fear the flames waiting
to carry me away.
For I know in my soul,
every ending plays a role—
I will burn.
I will break.
I will rise.
And become whole.
