Phoenix

Phoenix

Trapped in her clutches of yesteryear,

Spiraling towards depths yet to be,

Longing for a presence long since seen,

And yet all I have is this mirror,

Spotted, specks of dust everywhere,

Writing the details of what once was.

Phoenix has such a hold on me

With no expiration date in plain sight,

And so I smash the mirror

Against my chair's jagged edge,

Slicing a hunk out of my hand.

Tasting blood which will procure a place

Outside the realm of what's here

And in the region of olden times,

It's time my Phoenix return from Kingdom Come.

Morning came, went, passed,

Doing all that with a cool breeze.

Time seems to avoid sunlight at all costs,

And yet there are those pictures

Which ignite certain flames 

Long since extinguished,

Or so I thought.

Night seems to manufacture

Much like a man and woman in a bed dance

Ideas from which a genius can be understood.

Daytime is mostly a dead dime.

It was, after all, the night

Which drove her to the birds.

A love so raw, so surreal,

A passion which invented a new karma,

And now I look upon this antique clock,

And then at the lantern in my right hand,

It's flame, a maddened whirling dervish,

And I feel only sheer antipathy

For Nature and her Will,

And thus, crash the sea of oil and the flame 

Upon the rocky wood of the Time Keeper,

And then all is engulfed by the wings of flames.

Phoenix now will be reborn!