poetry

The Song of Phoenix Wings. {poetry}

The taste of freedom

on her lips.

Joy and happiness,

just one battle away.

Everything longed for,

suffered for, dreamed,

all within

arm’s length.

Weary and broken,

the war is far too long.

My spirit unable

to take anymore,

Her love and

will power  vanished,

lays down her sword.

Defeat. But oh, how she fought.

The cliff high,

the fall long.

Pain ensues every inch

of her as she is struck

against the mountain,

over and over, falling.

She tries to grab hold,

but the force

is just too strong.

Jagged rock shall

be her bed tonight.

Sharp stabbing pain

replaces every sense,

Every feeling.

My fragile spirit

too weak to move,

falls into a place

of darkness, numbness.

Praying someone

would find her.

Save her from

the shadows

that encompass her,

but nothing.

Not even a footstep.

Only silence.

In despair

with broken breath,

I cry,

“Let my spirit burn.

Let the fire rise within,

burning every piece.

Every wound.

Every scar.

Every tear.

Every pain.

All of her,

all of me,

until nothing

but ashes lay.

My soul cannot stand.

She is too weak,

too broken,

taken too many

lashes and stabs.

Too many beatings.”

The world shows no mercy.

No more strength.

No more reserves.

No will to go on.

Fierceness diminished,

passion vanished,

loving power gone.

She has faded

into nothing.

They tell me

to push forward,

get up and fight.

Yet rationale and logic

has no place here.

Medicine, no power.

She is beyond repair.

My spirit is as good as gone.

No choice, no hope.

I call on the power

of the Phoenix

to heal my soul,

my very being

with your loving fire.

And so my spirit

began to sing,

the age-old

Song of Phoenix wings,

“Fire, fire burning bright,

within the depths

of the deep dark night,

Take my soul

and burn her whole,

to rise again anew.”

Sparks fly.

Fire ignites,

engulfing her,

engulfing me,

inside the flames

of loving tenderness.

Blazing higher and higher,

until she is no more.

I am no more.

Pure crystallized ashes,

shining beautiful

and bright,

lay in her place

deep in the reflection

of the moonlight.

Day break comes,

the morning dew falls,

and the sun shines high.

Below the cliff,

a cool breeze flows,

in between

the jagged rocks

where pain and anguish

once sowed.

From the ashes,

a baby bird appears,

 pure and white as snow.

A phoenix,

full of gentleness.

Kindness. Peacefulness.

My soul is reborn.

Strengthened, empowered,

my heart full of love,

my spirit emerges,

Fully armored,

and ready

for battle.

Once a fallen soldier,

Now a risen warrior.

The war is mine to be won.

***

Karen Kirby is a southerner who loves theatre and poetry. She believes these are the two best ways to spotlight problems and emotions in the world that are often swept under the rug. Today’s society does not always allow a person to express their deep emotions or feelings. They are often deemed ‘sensitive’ or ‘crazy’ even for expressing how they truly feel. Yet in poetry and theatre one can express these deep emotions without ridicule. This is why she writes. So that those who feel as deeply as her never feel alone.

***

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