The Phoenix
Her eyes melt
into the sand, a vulture's
oasis. Red ants swim
towards safety. Blood trickles
in a stream, feeding
a large pool.
Small lizards drink greedily,
as crimson drips from their chins.
With a soft hiss, blood
gurgles and steam rises
viscous liquid boiling in the air.
Dust swirls around
her prone body
a weak tornado.
Vulture and lizard alike scatter,
sensing heat and wind.
The body burst
into flames, turning the sand
into glass.
In flames she dies,
and in flames she lives again.
Rising from the sand,
wings flapping in the twilight, she roars to life,
lava pumping through her veins.
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This is an old poem I found earlier today.
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