On Wings of Fire

Trailing smoke above my back
A soul with the spunk the people attack
Passion, grace, love and desire
The mystical powers of The Fire

Half-black heart, but pumping still
One wrong move, and die, it will
Soot-stained and driven through by lava
Burned it might be, but useful for ever—

Chained within, while beating fast
Encased within a spirit that’ll last
Body ablaze, with feathers of vermillion
Certain that it has an age of a zillion

Eyes of gold, with an iris of red
It rarely is seen, yet light is shed

A tongue of fire, and a beak so gold
Multilingual; universally leaving marks not cold

Beneath a stone flew the phoenix
Hesitance, strength, emotions mixed
Water is nothing against its claws
Smoke on water is not a loss

Directing itself upward
The bird moves on guard
Sharp-tip feathers of fire
Secreting just a signal of ire

Torch-like head, an orange crown
Neither showing a smile nor a frown
From magma to lava, shooting breaths of fire
Even Curiosity would dare not inquire

Tail-feathers, luminescent and bright
Even Ardor portrayed some fright

But as the heart turns very dark
The incessant breeze would not be a lark
For ash it’ll be, and inevitably dead
Rebirth, revelation, apocalypse wed

Rebirth, recovery, standing up after falling
Burning leaves of autumn should always be back on top glowing