The phoenix burned, once more returned, from fiery pyre aflame
With wings outstretched, soared o’er land wretch’d, seen, by the bird, as the same
old forests of past, which never could last 'gainst nature's violent outlashes
Yet in dreams surviving, defiant, and thriving; though the air still reeked of ashes
The scorching sunset cast its melting gold net o’er the equally, if not more scorched earth
Night's moon and day's star hung above the earth's scar; two eyes judging the wasteland's worth
They deemed it as decent, though the charring of recent corrupted their judgement in part
And through the cloud's pain, the celestial rain cascaded down to the wood's heart
The tears of the sky rinsed the aching dirt dry, and quenched its desperate dreams
The caked floor, satiated, filled up and inflated with life bursting at its seams
Beneath vanished leaves, under wire canopies, green shoots had begun to grow
The Phoenix, all seeing, saw the passionate being of the young plants below.
The forest will burn as time’s wheels turn, evermore reaching its end
Everything dies, yet The Phoenix still flies, watching all birthed again.
This is sort of a first draft...? I might rewrite the poem and make it better one day but at the moment it's also technically a finished poem.
I guess it's about humanity, sort of- with the Phoenix as humanity, burning the forest down itself and then blaming it on nature; then regaining inspiration as the world is reborn.
I liked the idea of the sun and the moon acting as eyes which weep when it rains, so I kept it in- for now, at least.