The Wounded Phoenix

Resurrecting from the cinders of death; the phoenix hues the sky,

Breathing through the azure gossamers; it too learns to fly. 

Into the woven beams of cerulean; it kindles a scarlet flame,

Perhaps to burn down the nefarious folds of the coven draping hem.

From within the arduous crust; a life hath flapped again,

Rising from its ashes grey; it fluttered amid the rain.

Unfettered desires to bathe in blue; made it soar and fly,

And into the crimps of purple clouds; it osculated the sky.

Nevertheless few broken dreams; brim us with despair,

Wounds of agony; gangrenous purulence fills our mortal share.

The spirit within can restore bliss; a happy soaring morn,

Rear the faith in anguished shells; disguised as a newborn.