Poetry

Treading on burning cinders 
it was a saga of fear versus unknown. 
Stripped, before drooping eyes 
scarred, armless, unflying. 
 
Into the regeneration phase: 
not a single word, single concern 
of yourself, you walked to arrive 
without adding a question. 
 
There was a movement without ripples, 
death of the black, mottled, many. 
I, becoming transcendental scion 
of whole, sincere entity. 
 
Melting to start a romance 
in the house of petals, 
of fragrant pheromones 
deluging the phoenix. 
 
To want the crowd, select a colossus 
cadaver spreading on mushrooms in field 
erect a man in white bones, unrivalled 
jealousy of virgins and gods.