A single tear rolls out of his eyes,

Boiling away instantly for none to see.

His tears, the majestic tears of the Phoenix.

He is the soaring being of myth,

A creature of legends.

Ever engulfed in fire,

Consumed by the mystical flame that burns within.

Not only on his skin,

But in his soul as well.

He's looked upon with admiration,

As a symbol of rebirth and renewal.

They do not see that he is ever consumed in writhing pain.

They cannot, though.

His tears evaporate away,

And his shrieks of pain to them are enthralling.

His emulation is a thing of beauty.

Cascading lights of all colors.

A beautiful flowing rainbow of pain.

Wasting away into ash,

Destined to die a thousand deaths.

Slowly charring into a lifeless husk.

This is not his end, though.

He is born again from the ashes.

As the cycle repeats you must all ask yourselves a question.

Is it a curse or a gift?

He is ever dying,

But he is ever reborn.