I ignited the furnace
That was me.
And a final luminous glow was born
Of the dying fire.
It burnt strongest at the broken cracks,
The dry wounds
Where the fire couldn’t reach at first
But the damp patches were now parched.
I was as if a Phoenix
Trying to set itself on fire
To arise anew from the ashes
Better, stronger, and ever so magnificent.
Only, the fire wouldn’t alight
Just the petty sparks
Leaving him half burnt, rest weak
And completely exhausted.
I was as if an Oak tree
That had lived a hundred years
Its roots spanning under the Earth
Spreading, crawling underneath
Were bearing the weight
Of a hollow trunk
Infected with its own dust
Yet perceived as strongest and invincible.
Photo by Hasin Farhan on Unsplash