The Furnace
Tha'ts ok;
allow yourself
to be desperate.
Even if you are writing this poem
with one hand,
half a mind,
and a bruised soul.
It changes nothing.
Even a great warrior
has to sit back
and rest,
and lick their wounds,
and sit by the sacred fire.
And allow his life
to burn away,
till nothing is left but white ash.
And phoenix is up for another circle
around
the SUN.
