The phoenix is reborn.
Fawkes burst into flame, sickly and old,
Burning out his long, graceful life.
Ever slowly fire hungrily engulfs and destroys
What once was a beautiful creature.
Striking golds and scarlets,
Once again returned to simple ashes.
It is saddening to see a gentle, innocent soul
Returned to where it once came from.
Yet look! Out of the ashes once again comes
A soul, virgin to the grandeur of our world.
He is ugly now: small, featherless, wrinkled,
Nothing compared to the striking creature
He once was or soon will be.
His crumpled skin shows no sign at all
Of the soft scarlet feathers it will grow.
The round, black eyes squinting blearily
Show no proof of the glassy wisdom they will gain.
Fawkes' beauty grows at an awe-inspiring rate,
Mere days pass by and he flourishes anew.
Scarlet plumage illuminates the skin across it,
Long wings stretch and take their first flight.
The golden tail soars, trailing behind
The pure soul now flying in the sky.
Eyes now round, alert and eager
To learn of this world that he was born into.
This magnificent creature of divinity
Bows its head and once more greets
The pale sky with a swish of wings.
He goes in search for souls that need
A reminder, showing:
Beauty is a seed grown
From the most unlikely places.
For a sickly old bird past its peak,
Then engulfed in flames,
Becomes a tiny, rumpled head, barely seeing,
Poking itself out from a mound of black ash.
And this is now the body of resplendence
You see flying in the sky.
Fawkes is reborn again.