Feathers and Ashes
The morning light has come and shone upon the withered flowers in your vase.
You see the mess you were in yesterday, your tattered clothes and bruised skin.
In your face, your Mascara drew a stream of grief and anguish as you fell from grace.
“What else would come, what pain is next?”, you would ask in vain.
You are not weak, never have you fallen without any means of redemption,
Your fire is just old and has come to an end.
Now, remember that rising from the ashes is your condition,
To be reborn once again, like a Phoenix you will ascend.
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