Plumage now dull and flaked;
body of bones shattered
by storms dared, by the crushing
of other trudging feet.
The weary one crawls, on earth
lined with spite, to where it will finally lie—
a dark, deep hole of jagged stones
and countless taunting shadows.
The body, in weary sleep, rests supine
and soundless to the cruelty, refusing
to stay cold as the flames
that within take hold
For it will know no defeat,
Only the sweetness of victory—
that surrender is nothing
but disgraceful musing.
Fires again fill the once deserted pit
and from the ashes spring forth
a body restored to youth alive
with the color of the sun.
The once damning pyre is now a nest,
for one who flies past the rest.
The reborn soars, wings stretched,
braced for sky and tempest.
