It is also
Her nature
To burn
As bright
As the noonday
Sun,
So that when
You look skyward
You are not sure
If your eyes
Are deceiving
You
Or not.
She can fly
Like a bird
And swim
Through the
Viscous magma
Like
It was nothing
But a warm
Bath,
On an eternally
Chilly day.
Her days
Are always numbered
And eternal.
Aren't all
Of ours?
Hers is a
Vicious cycle,
In the end
Like us all
She falls
To pieces,
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust.
But unlike
Us
She spends
No time
In the
In between
Place.
She could
Be you
She could
Be me.
There always
Seems to be
Something
In our lives
That ends us
Emotionally
Spiritually
Mentally
In some
Way
Shape
Or form.
We die
Inside.
We can't
Take it
Anymore
And everything
We thought
We knew
Cracks
Shatters
Into a million
Little pieces
And when
We try to pick
Them up
We cut our
Hands on
What we thought
Was red glass…
Really the remnants
Of our
Glass hearts
And before
We know it
Our blood
Is seeping out
Everywhere…
Nothing
Can be contained.
Not our rage
Nor our identity
Not anything
We held
But moments
Before
Slips through
Our fingers.
We burst
Into flames.
We are
Consumed
And
Reborn.
There are
Death cries
Flame
Smoke
Mirrors…
And
All that is
Left of
Who we
Were
Are a pile
Of ashes
And
A new life.
Over and
Over
And Over
Again…
I both love
And hate
That I am
The Phoenix.
I hate dying
Until it's over,
Then I am
Grateful.
I hate being
Born
Until that
Terrible learning
Curve
Is over…
Then I am
Relieved.
I have seen
The ebb
And flow
Of humanity
Being born,
Living,
Dying
Over and
Over,
And I have
Lost count…
I now envy
Those
Who live
And die
Once…
That they
Can remember.
I remember
Everything,
And those
That don't
Think that
It is a blessing…
I think it is
A blessing
That you can't
Remember it
All.
“Be grateful”
She says
“For you
All is special
And fragile.”
She sighs,
“For me
The cycle
Is eternal
Never ending
And eternity
Is long
Without
Sharing the
Memory of it.”
She cries a
Lonely song.
Fire and Ashes
Never erase
The taste
Of loneliness.
