#new-starts
I gathered dry wood
in the middle of winter,
building a rough nest,
But when I finished
I set it ablaze, thinking,
This should be a pyre.
I don't mind it much,
this controlled descent, to whit,
going down in flames.
If I burn it all,
I'll burn as an offering;
I will rise again.
The phoenix, I have read,
does it all the time.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC