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Phoenix rising

Rising from the ashes

setting the sky ablaze

watching with great wonder

enchanted by her gaze

 

She'd dipped into the depths

tormented by her plight

she met the beast inside

but couldn't stand to fight

 

Beast became her master

tearing her apart

thriving on her misery

constructing his black art

 

Pulverized she was

down to just a spark

little did he know

he failed to stop her heart

 

Applauding his own handiwork

the beast had lost his sight

while his eyes were wandering

she started to ignite

 

Her wings began to open

heart pumped in new life

an extraordinary light

turned fire as she took flight

 

Rising from the ashes

her pain was now assuaged

as she rose above him

the beast became enraged

 

He tried to grab ahold of her

but she had flown too high

Beast collapsed into a slump

she soared across the sky

 

 

 

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last updated 2 March 2021 - 5:01pm
©25 February 2011 - 1:54am — Morningglory
13 February 2019 - 2:33am — Morningglory
Morningglory's picture

This one ... Wow

I remember reading this, in that dark basement spitting poetry with jazz ...
 
 I had read another that night too, before this one, which i had written the same day they said he died.
 
This night, after I read this poem, a gentleman aporoached me to relay his thought of, it's  powerful. The other, he said was really raw. 
 
It was raw too. A freewrite rant that went on too long. The band actually tried to drown me out. They wanted me to stop. It was touching nerves. I could see that the crowd was mixed in their feelings. Half of them loved what I was saying, the other half did not. The MC made certain that I continued. 
 
The meeting of this man left an imprint. As he introduced himself, what struck me was that his name actually matched a poetic friend of mine whom I only knew here, on pp. Of course, it was one of those "funny names." 
 
Later, in a house called muse, I met this man again. At least I am certain it was him. His name was a match. I got embarrassed and shy. 
 
This poem brings me back to that night. I always thought or suspected, "it's you," I sat across from that night.
...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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