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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

A bird must burn in order to become a phoenix.


Crushing, writhing, crying out

Can't you hear the crying? 

The shell is cracked and broken up

The thing inside is dying

The ugly little thing inside

Is thrown into the clay

And rolls, so helpless, in the mud--

Can't fly, but cannot stay--

The matted feathers on the wings 

Were never meant for flying

The shell around has been destroyed

The thing inside is dying

The mass of feathers, clay, and mud

Is tossed with absent shame

Onto the red of cooking coals-- 

It cries out in the flame

The red licks up the matted mud

The heat consumes the slime

The thing inside screams as it cooks

A pity paradigm

And in the heart of gluttonous heat

The feathers are its feast

The thing inside is burned away; 

The Thing Inside released

The fire opens up its arms

The King of all its prizes

And flaming wings stretch out their span

Behold, the Phoenix Rises. 



Submitted: December 09, 2019

© Copyright 2021 Bridget Kennedy. All rights reserved.

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A fantastic piece of poetry. Great storytelling in rhyme.

Mon, December 9th, 2019 8:29pm

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