Ascension

Quiver.

Wounded wing, hidden under imaginary steel;

Pain coaxed out of the vessel by soft words,

Soft words embraced by the maelstrom of existence itself.

The hand of fate makes its move, relentlessly;

As we vainly scream to the heavens ‘leave me be!’

The plea turns into a roar,

The whimper into a frenzied battlecry,

The whisper into a call to glory,

‘Leave me be’ becomes ‘teach me how to die’.

Forging steel in inner fire,

Metamorphosis catalyzed by circumstance.

The phoenix reborn, yet slightly dimmer than before.

Or is it just brighter outside?