Dying Phoenix
When will I learn? I am a smart girl. I am a phoenix. I play with fire but how many lives will I live, how many times will I return? Will I learn anything from my journey? Will I be reborn to make the same mistakes or will I find that I have used my last life in shame and vain?
I cannot accept fire as nature’s way of providing warmth. I am mesmerized by the flames. The colors the power it has. I get drawn to the heat, passion, the beauty of the flickering sparks. It fuels my soul. The excitement of how dangerous it can be if not contained and managed under a controlled environment. I can’t let it be. I add logs to it so that it becomes bigger than me. I must let it free!
Out of control, the heat unbearable, the inferno blazing, crackling, hissing to run every direction it can seem to go. It destroys everything in its path to only leave chars of black soot and crumbling remains of what use to be. The smoke billows and suffocates me as I am enraptured by the sexiness seduction of its ways. I cannot see what lies ahead, but I wait for it. I wait for the destruction; the end. Until then the smothering remains of what once was so cherished and loved will die out. No more flames, no more smoke, no more heat, nothing. Nothing living, not even the fire itself. The black ashes lay. They will blow away in time. The wind will carry the dust in a million directions. It is then I will be reborn. Free to spread my wings. The question is how long will I fly and when will I add more fuel and start another spark? Only when the cold is unbearable and I long for the fire again. When the loneliness, bitterness, and my heart has grown cold will I seek the fire, knowing very well, in time I will destroy what I have grown to love once again. Pretending that it has never happened in the past, pretending that I didn’t know it was going to happen again, even lying to myself that I would be more diligent and take care of it and me. The gift of the phoenix is to fly but, what good is it when her wings never take her to the end of her journey. Lessons never learned but a bit of her soul taken, and burned.
I cannot accept fire as nature’s way of providing warmth. I am mesmerized by the flames. The colors the power it has. I get drawn to the heat, passion, the beauty of the flickering sparks. It fuels my soul. The excitement of how dangerous it can be if not contained and managed under a controlled environment. I can’t let it be. I add logs to it so that it becomes bigger than me. I must let it free!
Out of control, the heat unbearable, the inferno blazing, crackling, hissing to run every direction it can seem to go. It destroys everything in its path to only leave chars of black soot and crumbling remains of what use to be. The smoke billows and suffocates me as I am enraptured by the sexiness seduction of its ways. I cannot see what lies ahead, but I wait for it. I wait for the destruction; the end. Until then the smothering remains of what once was so cherished and loved will die out. No more flames, no more smoke, no more heat, nothing. Nothing living, not even the fire itself. The black ashes lay. They will blow away in time. The wind will carry the dust in a million directions. It is then I will be reborn. Free to spread my wings. The question is how long will I fly and when will I add more fuel and start another spark? Only when the cold is unbearable and I long for the fire again. When the loneliness, bitterness, and my heart has grown cold will I seek the fire, knowing very well, in time I will destroy what I have grown to love once again. Pretending that it has never happened in the past, pretending that I didn’t know it was going to happen again, even lying to myself that I would be more diligent and take care of it and me. The gift of the phoenix is to fly but, what good is it when her wings never take her to the end of her journey. Lessons never learned but a bit of her soul taken, and burned.
Replies