Firebird

[Dark Muse]

Firebird

Once more his majestic
orange-red plumage
spreads open proudly
with new born life
and he rises high
into the sky.

Casting off the
blue-gray ashes
he again shines resplendent,
blinding to look upon
yet impossible to ignore.

The warmth of his
vibrant life radiates
in waves which touch
upon everything.

The searing caresses
of his feathers, while like
a peacock he spreads open
his gilted adornments.

A blazing glory making
the journey across the
celestial sea, how dim
the world becomes
when incinerated by
his own heat.

And he sleeps somber,
the skeletal vision,
but a shadow of himself,
embers of his feathers
scattered across the darkness.

Until the quickening moment
of rebirth, and once more
the fires of his vitality
alight and dispel the
mourning solace.

[Delta40]

I know little of firebirds. I did think about Phoenix rising from the ashes and it made me feel a bit triumphant. you write eloquently muse and my brain is a bit fried from yesterday so I will read it again and comment.

[Dark Muse]

Thank you very much! The idea behind this poem was seeing the sun as actually being the phoenix and the cycles of night and day are created by the death and rebirth of the phoenix.

[Delta40]

oh! well, my brain isn't that fried after all - remarkable writing to get a small impression of that through to me at the moment, Muse!

[tailor STATELY]

Another strong poem. Well done.

I do have a question on the following:
A blazing glory making
the journey across the
celestial sea, how dim
the world becomes
when incinerated by
his own heat.
It might be my muddle but 'world' & 'his own' and 'incinerated' don't seem to match, if that makes sense. Forgive me if I am in error

[Dark Muse]

I can see what you are trying to get at here, and the thought I was trying to convey in that stanza was the idea of the arrival of night when the phoenix finally burns himself up in his own flames, but in review there is perhaps a bit of awkwardness in the placement of those words together.

[hillwalker]

An elegant piece of writing - more of a slowburn than a flash in the pan.