My Ashes

How awful it is
When she flies
To the cinnamon nest
In which she dies

How awful it is
After 1,000 years
That she will suddenly perish
And drown in her tears

But how incredible it is
That with not a worry to her name
She flaps her wings
And dies in the flame

How incredible it is
To hear her calls
To tell of a new beginning
Not a death at all

As she watches from a place
Above the mountains and the trees
I slowly emerge
From her nest of charred leaves

And through the ashes
I suddenly rise
All the while keeping
My eyes on the sky

Shot down by another,
But another of my kind
I wake up just before I drown
As strange things fill my mind

Wounded by others,
My wings, torn and slashed,
I think I’ll sit, safe,
In my nest of hot ash.