A ***** in one's armour,
Of a self once believed,
Is a space in the night,
Where everything's achieved.

Moving through the darkness,
Falling out of self,
Being who I thought I was,
Is never good for health.

Calling to the Phoenix,
As the ashes cloud the mind,
An eye that fills with water,
And a heart that starts to find.

Dropping to the space inside,
As the ashes settle down,
Is the knowing of a child,
But no actions of the clown.

Moving through the light of day,
As seeds being to grow,
Is the rising of the Phoenix,
To what I've always known.