PHOENIX FABLE
Symbols can resonate with us on a level deeper than a
single concept-
this is because they can speak to the imagination and
to deeper perceptions
and feelings. However, as they become
well-known they slip into our grab bag
of verbal clichés and into trivial graphic
representations, even trademarks and
our reaction becomes entirely superficial. This poem is an attempt to bring
one
such symbol, the phoenix, back into our imaginative sense.
PHOENIX FABLE
It is
the last of days.
Riding
on the wind's last ways,
Beating
its gold-burning wings,
Like a
sun in day's descent,
The
burnished bird of day returns,
With
wisdom's gathered age and ebbing life.
It
forms the nest for fire,
And
shapes one golden egg.
And
with first stir of dawn
The
fragrant sticks ignite
Consuming
flesh and feather
In
blaze of burning light.
But in
the ashes of the night
There
shines the shimmering, gold-solar egg.
It
cracks- and with a dazzling radiance
The
vanished phoenix soars to sight,
The
same, the Self, transformed
Eternal
in its re-beginning,
Reborn
into the truth,
Forever
newly-winged with youth,
It
rides into the endless sky,
It
flies upon the winds' fresh ways.
It is
the first of days.
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