The Inferno devours the infant,
Blaze towering the callousness,
The envelope of Innocence innate within,
Collapses under the Wrath of Hell.
The Son of the Divine fails to rise,
Wobbly and tiny his limbs,
Alone in the cruel world,
His snivels muffled, by the Hands beneath.
Years into the Netherworld,
The Phoenix reduced to gruesome ashes,
Screaming scars donning the lad,
Made him stronger in spite the cracks.
It was time for the Sun to burn again,
For the ten steps of Hell would be torn apart,
The Bloom of the Phoenix from the ashes burnt,
Would quench the Blaze and obliterate the lust.
And so did the Phoenix rise,
Darker than Satan, yet brighter than The Light.
Breaking hell loose on Hell itself,
Wrecking the cages of the Living Dead.
He spread his wings, embraced the warmth
Born of The Light, raised by The Dark
But as time passed, people forgot,
The Legend of The Dark Phoenix.
YOU ARE READING
The Legend
PoetryThe Sun may set, and it may rise, But the fire in its heart never dies. Poems about grief, rising and love.
