Dies the Fire
The phoenix, it takes to its wing,
Its fire amongst the blue of the sky.
Yet below it the ground is all barren,
Its denizens, all long have died.
…
Their castles have crumbled to ruin.
Foliage, on the stones it grows.
Before it, the bodies of fallen,
Caught in their deaths' final throes.
…
The sun, it sets over this land,
And perhaps indeed the whole world.
The bird casts its eyes to the castles,
None of them have banners unfurled.
…
The trees on the grass without motion,
In time, the breeze too it will die.
The land gazes up high at the heavens,
At the phoenix within the clear sky.
…
And so the phoenix flies onwards and upwards,
It lets out a song like a groan.
Flying away from this wasteland.
From a world that is no longer known.