February 3rd, 2012
(Written in 12th Grade)
Not Created Nor Destroyed
The remnants of a once boastful fire
burnt out, embers suffocating.
Our story is over.
A vast lake of memories,
liquid in their recollection,
dried up at sun-dried fingertips,
I'm beginning to forget.
Out of the ashes,
a phoenix's first cry.
Death stirred by the wind,
and born is something beautiful.
There is nothing like a sprout of hope
in a kindled forest.
