The flight of the phoenix,
the touch of wind.
The heat of the fire,
the shine of the moon.
Once there were six,
all of her kind.
All driven by desire,
and to death immune.
Now only one left,
all others have gone.
The went to the grey lands,
and left her behind.
Lives through theft,
all feeling forgone.
The night she commands,
last of her kind
A contest entry
- Firemoon Picture prompt by Passionate Phoenix.
300 points, ended February 11, 2008, 6 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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I have the same concept of course on a different level. I feel that she will always be "the one" just like you do here in your magical words. good luck in the contest, DARK.
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wonderful, lovely imagery and great take on the picture.
some lovely ideas here, thanks for entering and good luck! xx
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