Phoenix, A Poem

I’m more among the ash heaps,
Rather than the millionaires;
I am not a Fitzgerald hero,
Though there’s a romance locked inside of me.

Let me be the piles of ash the destitute must live with,
That is much my destiny as anything else;
I will be the soot pervading the land,
The quotidian nuisance.

If I am the ash then it explains the phoenix
Perched on my shoulders,
Massive, protecting, combusting;
I am the phoenix ash.

If this is all I am, that’s enough,
The phoenix within and without
Destroys me, rebuilds me, destroys me
Forever on, until I’m dust


The image is still fresh,
When my middle school youth conjured you;
You were first an emotion,
The passion and anger erupting from me.

But then you cooled, turned to ice;
You came to look like my doppelganger,
Only with red eyes and orange hair.
I named you Blaze.

This cooling wasn’t caused externally,
only until my pen touched this poem did I know it was my doing;
I couldn’t withstand your brilliance and heat;
You raged like a wildfire, an infinite conflagration.

I am called to you
(or maybe you are called to me,
This maudlin, erratic, but finally content lot)
Our destiny is in our embrace.

Inevitability dictates our intimacy will be short,
For I am man and you are inferno;
You then, are my end, the vice around my neck tied by Ananke.
I accept what comes, I accept the flames.