Phoenix by Gemma Johnston

                                         Flames whisper;

           “You deserve this.”

A quiet burn.
Tasting soul's flesh,
searing the mind
Into silence.

Like fire pulsing
In dark veins underground,
It burns for years.
On fossilised memories
Of bygone eras.

But time wins, 
As it always does.
Flames become embers,
Glowing with promise 
Of release.

In the cool ash 
Of the past,
There is nothing left to burn.
The future forms-
Amongst the grey motes,
The future forms-
And it bursts forth, 
           Into the sky
                              With purpose.

by Gemma Johnston


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