The Song of Phoenix Wings. {poetry}
{source}
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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