A molten gold drop for an eye,
She was a bird that smelled of fire.
Her feathers shone amber
Like jewels, or lava.
As if the swirling smoke and flame,
Had escaped the ring of the burning sun
And clung to her, dancing.
She was a small flame,
But the air would burn under her wings
As she tried to fly
Until it rotted black and fell,
Her touch was only friction.
The other birds were cool and
Expansive as the sea.
They would rinse the same air with a mist
Seal up the seared holes,
While this little flame left fiery currents
That singed the ice, but she never flew.
It rained and rained
And she dimmed and flickered,
Reduced to a subdued red glimmer.
While the other birds felt restored,
A fresh sheen – elemental blue.
The rain sank down endlessly,
The long daylight wept as well
And even when the sunset met with the storm
It did not end.
It was somber and dark.
The blue mixed with the grey mixed with the dark
Until it was all an extinguished dead mass.
And then the sun let out a lone ray –
Before it was quenched by the dark
And it set her on fire.
And as she finally flew across the dark
The darkness darkened still,
So a bright red streak remained amongst the ash and stars
And her incendiary flight was brilliant and still lasts.