Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Phoenix - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson
Sulmona has a son
who described to us a beast
that bird of dragon character
long lived in tall oak trees

when long life had ended
when breath has stilled in heart
a newly born young version
arises at light of dawn

Ovid my thanks profusely
for rising above the dirt
an epic form of poetry
not of convention's mirth

you breathe into my being
that wondrous form of story
which flies as though a Phoenix
from ashes bringing glory

glory of our present times
documenting those follies broad
which shun away our future
success not to be bought

from these golden ashes
of pain manufactured by our lust
identity of purpose fills our soul
follows beyond with sacred trust

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