We are Phoenix we rise above
we fly high against the backdrop
Of a twilight sky
And leave you dead and cold.
Let your sallow soul grow old amongst the bones of those who told
The shallow lie you heard amongst my teardrops.
Crystal clear
No malice here
I grace the air with wings of gold.
My heart unfolds with truth and beauty, pure love and loyalty
I am Phoenix.
I rise above.
©Alison Jean Hankinson.
Image creative commons free to use from pixabay.
Fear’s icy tendrils caress the nape of my neck
I see the mangled wreckage up ahead
Acrid smoke spewing from the burnt-out shell
That was your car.
Carnage.
Plastic bags strewn across the carriageway carelessly.
Empty nest, neglected summer,
Loneliness brandished in the scorched tyre treads.
Relief washes over me
I am waterfall to babbling brook
Phoenix from the ashes-you live on
We have a second chance to ignite and burn brightly.
©Alison Jean Hankinson
This is for d’Verse where metaphor is the challenge.
Hues of Hankinson 