It would have been hot
Feathers dropping off
Crispy and charcoal
Curled in pain
Yet you didn’t let fear stop you
As your rose again
Shaking
Like a just washed dog
Amber eyes
Staring into mine
Fierce and glowing
Handing me a feather
I dip your quill
And the words
Rise from ether
*I had a dream about a Phoenix not too long ago. This is kind of blended with a thought here- probably means more to me than the reader but that’s poetry in general – the language of the subconscious.
Would it not be cool to have a quill made from the feathers of a Phoenix? Very Harry Potterish.
Oh and it’s my birthday – another year tacked up – how blessed to still be here with so much ahead.
Hopefully
