The Phoenix

The Phoenix

Phoenix, Phoenix, born of fire

Of ashes on your funeral pyre

Of mystery and fascination abound

Of magic burning all around

Your eyes are crafted of liquid flame

Your wings of grace too intricate to frame

Your heart is made of a glistening star

Tell me bird, does death seem far?

So many times the legend's been told

Of a scarlet bird with feathers of gold

One of kind, lonely it flies

Through it's sad world of never-ending skies

Singing a song of white horses with wings

Of the moon and the sun and mysterious things

Of travelers returned and sunlight on snow

Never once letting its pure sorrow show

Tell me, great bird as immortal as the sun,

When you return to the place you begun,

Do you feel pain as the flames scorch your heart?

Or do you know from your ashes again you will start?

Phoenix, please tell me, are you afraid?

Do you ever wish in this body you'd stay?

As the flames slowly kill you, do you ever have doubt?

Or do you know you'll never die out?

I see pearly tears stream down your cheek

But are they of anguish, or of pure relief?

Your glimmering feathers, they're turning so black

As your wings catch fire, there's no turning back

Eyes on the sun, you hold your head proud

And give a soft cry, that echoes so loud

A last flutelike breath, your eyelids fall slow

A burst of white flame, an internal glow

Your feather-crowned head slumps down to the ground

The flames pop and crack, but you make no sound

Your body burns brightly against the blue sky

Never again in it will you fly

The fire has burnt out; there's nothing but cinder

But mortal being your soul won't let hinder

The cold ashes then rise to the sky

And a brand-new young Phoenix begins to fly

Phoenix, oh Phoenix, gallant heart beating proud

Sing your sweet song, and please sing it loud

Sing of your desire, sing of your worth

Sing of all hope, sing of rebirth

Phoenix, Phoenix, born of fire

Of ashes on your funeral pyre

Of imagination's greatest flight

Of hope so strong it's burning bright