Up it goes.
Soaring to heights unscaled
Spreading its gallant wings
So it cuts through the winds
Like knife through butter
It lands on a trunk
With neck straightened and stretched to the sky
As if to say “WHO IS THE MAN”!
Now it has gone frail
Its feathers that glitter
Now looks like they have gone through a shredder
Are its feathers.
Awful the feathers make it look.
And they stare!
Yes they stare and very well at that!
They stare at the bird they once admired or detested.
The admirers could not hide their disappointment at its becoming
Whilst those that detest it smile and laugh in a jubilant and sarcastic manner,
As if to say "Thank God for your becoming!"
It looks straight ahead.
As if luck did prompt it to.
What did it see?!
It saw a Pyre!
So it gathers all strength there is to gather
With a determined look,
A flight it took.
Towards the Pyre
Stand, it does on the Pyre
Its feathers start to smoke
Then it glows
Then its darkens,
Dark till it becomes ash
A powdery ash
The admirers mourn and detractors jubilate.
Ah! Wait a minute
What do I see!?
I see the ashes rise
And as if the magic word “Abra ka Dabra” is says,
Skeletons form and flesh covers them.
Feathers, beautiful ones at that, cover the flesh.
It once again looks as beautiful as ever.
The admirers and detractors exchange the emotions they held.
Once more, with wings spread, it flaps and flies.
Looking back one last time with a gaze that says "thanks for all your thoughts."
Then it disappears into the atmosphere.
"The Phoenix" is part one of our four-part series of poems on soccer.