Cycle of the Phoenix

In the thornbush lies the egg
burnt out cold and lonesome
and the chilling wind blows round
and forms a mote of air

In the wind plays the embers
burning shortlived creatures
and the chilling wind blows round
and forms a flaming image

And it's perfect features
takes it's measures
and blows down
a tender breath of flame

In the flame burns the egg
in heated loving company
and the chilling wind blows around
a flaming mote of embers

And it's perfect features
takes it's measures
and blows down
a tender breath of flame

In the egg lies the growing bird
aflame, burning in it's passion
and the chilling wind gives way
as the Phoenix takes to wing

And the embers starts to sing
becomes ash and nourishment
for thorny nest that holds the egg
and the chilling wind blows round
in the hollow space between




Poetry by Karl-Johan
Read 453 times
Written on 2008-06-12 at 21:39

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