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.
Feeding
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,
Soaring
Into the sky
With purpose.
by Gemma Johnston
Of what does it seek?
ReplyDeleteThis 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