Golden; They said the flames were golden
When I burned
In the moment of my deepest despair
What other’s saw was golden, fair
star light that burst into the sky,
And beauty; they said I was wrapped in beauty
Before the flames,
A visual, spectacle to behold
Even though my soul was old,
And I was clothed in purple gowns,
my beauty renown…
Yet tribute to my beauty became only
A pile of ash.
No mortal eye could ever guess
What lay beneath the blacken mess,
What splendor of divine potential?
Now holding dead credentials.
And despair, where once was beauty
Ashes fill the ground,
Where life once flourished glorious,
Now only death is found;
And ugliness, knows no limits
Where beauty now has died,
Washed up, burned out, lost causes;
Now hope has lost all stride.
Bleak; they had no words for when they left me
A pile of ash
In the moment of my deepest anguish
They all left; for no soul wants to languish
For what clearly fell to doom
There is no room—
And fear of being tainted, by ashes
Made them run,
Leaving all that’s dirty to be sorted
For fear of being tainted, thwarted
Mercy, from digging through the rubble—
No one, not one, would trouble.
But in the pile of my mess
No mortal eye would want to say
That there was beauty there that day;
Weak, and small, refined by fire
Recalled to life upon my pyre.
And beauty grows out of despair
From ashes rise, beauty fair;
Filling life with hope now glorious,
Death to the phoenix, is not victorious!
No shame, or gilded beauty can be
So great, that death to self won’t free;
So let the façade burn away—
The phoenix rises, again today.