The Phoenix (Still a work in progress ...)

The damaged still arises from the ash

            as a Phoenix, invincible and fiery

To reap vengeance upon those who caused her most recent demise?

            Surely, not – the Phoenix needs renewal, not revenge!

When she rises, chameleon shimmering wings outstretched,

High above the trampled ground,

                        Blinding those – who would dare to stare –

at her presence, now reborn of method profound.

When they whispered behind her back as she was burning,

            She felt, for a moment the searing of her flesh, and

Harmony with the clamor of voices and thoughts, even Earth’s turning.

            Could these people ever really see or understand?

As she pondered the prior death knells,

            She soared high into the upper atmosphere –

                        and she saw much more than the celestial sphere.

            She encountered the vastness of the mind

                       Which, never shaken, was inclined

                                                To search and find

                                                            Her own kind …

Then, she continued to follow the breeze and rise above

            The stifling din of the noisy, motley crowd

                                                                        On the ground

                                                                        Messy and loud

                                                                        Far too round

                                                                        To ignorance, avowed

                                                                        By frailty, bound

                                                                        Fortunate, yet not proud

                                                                        Saved, but not found

                                                Would they ever see their potential allowed?

                                                How many more times must this cycle go ‘round?

As these questions plagued her mind,

            The Phoenix remembered another time,

a time before this one, or even the last

a period unwritten, unlike the last dozen or so pasts,

when humanity did not separate from nature so fast,

Before the invention of computers, cars, or masts,

At the time when the environment was different and human species, vast.

            What of these prehistoric people and their time?

            Was there a missing link that would clarify the rhyme?

As she probed deeper into that collective mind,

            To discover the secrets so long enshrined

                        In the pit of men’s souls, she thought she sensed an answer.

The Phoenix considered the plight

            Of man, so trapped in his little flight

                        Journeying through in human form

                                    On impressive though caging sphere

                                    Soul fumbling to make sense of mortal fear

                                    With mistakes & regrets always bringing up the rear

                                    Never quite sure of the similarity between far and near

                                    And confused as to the difference between foreign and “dear”

Man must have care in this journey, should his aims be sublime.