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


  1. Of what does it seek?
    This rebirth from charred peat. .
    Does it hate its creation? The ones who had gone before now appear so meek?
    The inheritance of loss a scorched earth and empty beak
    The answer will lie in its talons
    When time plucks every feather and casts asunder, every treasure from its plunder
    Will seed be found to fan the flame
    To start the wonder yet again


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