Sunday, April 17, 2005

Another Scribble

Phoenix

You have heard that the Phoenix
dies the death of bright fire,
fierce flames of great burning,
feeding a mortal desire.
You have heard that fine feathers,
red-gold, are thus turned
to an ash of blackened dust
when the Phoenix is burned,
and that amid deathly ash
the egg of great price
breaks, weakened by the flame,
that the Phoenix may rise.
You have heard of all this,
but have you heard that they say
that the Phoenix in the morning
sings the song of the Way?
What a wondrous song!
For no other can compare
in sweetness and glory,
in order most fair!
For the truth is but this:
the Phoenix-made flame
is the falling of morals
and the mixing of names.
But when the Phoenix comes forth
in a birthing of light,
the Way is returned
and the names are made right
by the voice of its singing,
beyond even nightingale:
a sign of great surety
that the Way shall not fail!

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