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Description
Hear the shrill cry in the morn,
See ashes scatter in the breeze
a shadowed shape lies most forlorn
remembering how it was to breathe.
Remembering fury of the flames,
that licked it dry to bone and dust,
Remembering once it had a name,
then forgetting because it knew it must.

The past had faded in its mind
once resting hollow in its skull.
Its memories taken by the wind
as fire embers took its soul.
Feathers, blackened charred the skies
where others flew and knew its pain
of burning and of severing ties,
yet knowing it had much to gain.

And thus before the new dawn came
so many birds had clawed the skies
expressed the anguish flared by flame
that caused a kindred bird’s demise.
They watched then knowing they must wait
and rent the air with all their cries
Knowing pain of this bird’s fate
knowing that it would arise.

And yes there was a feeling gnawing
from a heart that stayed ablaze
something that sought escape was roaring
and called for hope of future days.
It rose from ashes, glowing, vibrant,
winged through pain of being born,
cast ashes from his past time spent.
Hear the shrill cry in the morn.