Leaden clouds sweep swiftly in from the north,  
Blanketing the sapphire skies in melancholy.  
Deafening, rolling thunder cracks  
As a mysterious chill sends a shudder up my spine.  

A faint knock rasps at my front door;  
Whispers circulate, ringing through my walls,  
Echoing my name ever so sinisterly.  

For twenty and twenty years, I have been happily discontent,  
Freezing my sins in lovely seclusion.  
Now, a dank darkness drapes this dilapidated sanctuary.  

Peering out the curtains, I see death's arrival—  
Ruby red roses in my formerly lush garden  
Crumbling to ash, fading into the earth.  

Elongated fingers peek through the dubious haze.  
A cackling booms.  

To my right stands an ornate Victorian mirror.  
Turning my head, I can see the flames of Hell rage.  
What was once just a plane of glass  
Has now become a beckoning portal.  

Without hesitation, I rip it off the wall,  
Smashing the omen, trying to escape an unfathomable fate.  
Within seconds, it's fully reconstructed,  
Signaling there is no reprieve.

Phoenix in the Ashes?
That dirge to the heartbreak of loss,
“Ashes of Life” echoes in my mind of late:
“Love has gone and left me
And the days are all alike”
I
wallowing,
sunk in my sackcloth and ashes…

No flaming garb of vibrant red, instead shades of grey and black course coal
serve as my meager cloak & bed.
Those tongues of fire were so enchanting...
Now their bright blazing flames have died;
as smoke-filled skies remain to choke my breath–ashen
asphyxiation.
Amid charred lifeless trunks which
bely past vibrant verdant days
I wander awaiting years gone grey, a future
to further lay waste & topple the broken snags–to earth returned. . .
wait
a pause. . .
A glint of ruby red!
a single feather surviving?
molten scarlet letter “A” to lift from the ****?
witch who will not be burned up,
who cannot be consumed?
Has that resilient phoenix truly met a last cremation?
Or will her red wings yet arise renewed
Up from the “Ashes of Life”?

The pain
that tears through my chest,
from top to bottom—
there are no words
to truly describe it.

It is only
pain.

A thousand people in a street,
A thousand eyes that’ll meet—
A million personalities in a street,

Some to work,
Some to school,
Some to steal,
Some to fool,

Few are drunk,
Few are poor,
Few to lie,
Few to fly.

A thousand sighs in a street,
A thousand sorrows to tolerate,
A million stories incomplete—

Few slept deep
Few wept in a sheet.

Few to study,
Few to work.

A thousand people in a street.
A thousand griefs that repeat,
A million hearts that skip a beat—

Shoot the bird in the foot
Let the sin drip down your chin
You've downed your prey
And held them at bay.
Now sink your fangs into flesh and blood
And pierce the veins
With their flowing crimson.

The mess before you
Feathers strewn about
Clean and white and dotted with red.
Doesn't their fear astound you
The beating of a heart in their breast
Dark eye does dart around
And nails scratch for any grip.

Don't you tear into them more
And revel at the meal?
The way their screams part from their lips
Like an innocent bird
What have they done to deserve this?

Mortal bones break
Mortal flesh tears
Mortal blood does weep.
Does the crimson not shine in the light
Like an expensive wine in a fantasy's delight?

It's blue inside
Not red.
It's white
Not red.
The flesh falling away from the bone
With phalanges exposed to the cold night air.
I saw it happen,
When you peeled the skin away
The layer of white like that of a peeled apple
being prepared for a pie.

When you pierced the cheek with your sharp white points.
When your lips graced the curve of the neck and suckled until crimson spilled.
The velvety black inside your mouth,
Corrupted with the scarlet red
of fresh blood from the vein in which it came.

Does it not bother you?
When you dismantle your prey as though you are a bird of the night
And them a sleepy songbird wishing for a roost?

Hunger.
It must burden you so
To blink when a heart beats and roars
And to hold back the tempest inside
Lest you expose your most private secret in front of the crowds.
How I wish it does so.
Forever.
May you never feel the joy of taking the lives of them all at once.
May you cower in the darkness
And hide within the deepest shadows
Not because the sunlight burns,
No, because the men will hunt you and make your kind known as they sharpen their wooden spears.
And none of you will be safe again.

Bleed your bird
Drain your victim
They are perhaps helpless alone
But the cluster of many is the terror you shall know, forevermore.

Still eyes did look into the skies,
A mother did weep.

Little hands still cling to her fingers,
A mother did keep.

Still warm, a body did lay,
A father did dig deep.

Little hope did not dwindle,
A father did keep.