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To A Phoenix
Arcadian bird that soars above us on its varicolored wings,
How does the world below look to your aquiline eyes?
Can you still see the people who live life that brightly sings
Amongst the many paupers whose lives overflow with sighs?
Does the world still hold its grandeur and distinct hue to you
When you see the blood red clouds of hate and bitter wrath?
Can you discern what makes the world hold the cruel course true
On through the troubles and no answers waiting on the path?
You fly but for a short time and burn fast into black cinders,
Hold forth and then are born again to see the world once more;
Are you still happy with your lot of flame and needless tinders
As all the world is further hurled along the trail of gore?
Were I but innocent as you I would find happiness
In soaring high above the world and not living within it;
I’d live my life without regrets at my deep loneliness
And be a happy bird whose life no sadnesses would permit.
thats nice... its too bad that if you were close enough to actually talk to the phoenix you would be burned alive, screaming shrilly as your flesh was seared from your body.