Behind metal bars lies a beauty now desolate.
It's landscape of life now the picture of malevolent.
It tried and it tries to break through the door.
It tried and it tried until it was no more.
It was not dead, not dead to the eye.
But the life inside was shriveled and dry.
All she needed was fire to catch,
So that she may have the strength to open the hatch.
Now, her crusted bland feathers.
Loose their color with all the forevers.
What once was, pulchritudinous, and golden,
Must decay with the winds of time and olden.
This prison has not only trapped her from carte Blanche,
But has stopped the growing of her own branch.
Where there is love, there is life,
Yet without love you can be pierced with the gentle tip of the knife.
And for her it is easy to sit here and sway,
For her life is like a rope, a fray.
And time by time the strings pull apart,
Making her a dangerous work of art.
What will diminish when the rope snaps,
Are all of her holes and all of her gaps.
For a frail thing like her,
A fall that high is nothing but pure.
She will be crushed
And turn to dust.
Yet she rises from ashes,
With fresh wounds and gashes.
Her blood yet still drips,
Though cold and as blue as her lips.
It continues to flow,
So her hatred may grow.
To spark a new fire,
So she may burn higher.
And turn back to ashes,
And rise with the gashes.
The scars of a life never lived.
Of a love never felt.
Of a space of nothing.
Once was,
Is
Now
Once
Ago.
The Phoenix.
YOU ARE READING
Nostalgia
PoetryTick tock tick tock we live our lives by the clock. We follow a script, so are lives don't drift Far from what we envisioned. Blood pumps through my ears I can't see through the tears Save me from myself. A cloak of love A jacket of joy All becaus...
