And so she rises blazing, from one
thought be so frail, but inside the mother
ember, forever burning, waiting... for the
breath of promise to ignite her whisper
to a roar.
Her molted, molten feathers made solid
from the smoke of her immolation,
redefine her shape.
The destruction of her spirit at another's
hands, freed her to return in power,
to be a message of strength in
the land of those who have been
taught to be weak.
The fire that destroys only burns
away the dross, it purifies, transforms
and tempers the soul, soaring in
The flames of feminine will.
Richard Higley © Dec 12, 2013
With Wendy Acton.
