Teaching the Phoenix to Fly

Teaching the Phoenix to Fly
Kay Rice

You saw the phoenix as the sparrow took her last breath,
unable to fly or to sing, there was nothing left.
A fragile small frame that encased a soul larger than life,
smothered and suffocated through years of torment and strife.

You saw the wings, spread out in the night,
long before they ever knew how to take flight.
Strength that was born from silent screams,
memories that haunt long tortured dreams.

You saw the fire in the back of darkened eyes,
a spark long forgotten in years gone by.
A memory of dreams made in youthful days,
long before life became lost in its dark maze.

You saw her rise, proud and strong from the back of the room,
like a butterfly breaking loose from its tight cocoon.
You saw her breath warm the frosted air all around,
and break loose the tethers where once she was bound.

You saw the phoenix rise long before she cried out,
you heard her cries long before she knew how to shout.
You taught her to strike and face all her fears,
most of all you, kissed away all of her tears.

You raised the spirit of a phoenix from a sparrow’s last breath,
and you showed her a life when there was nothing left.
You gave her a voice when her song was all but done,
you taught her to fly when she could no longer run.

And for all of these things, I say ‘I love you’,
as you take my hand and we face each day new.
As my eyes are now open and my wings feel the sky,
You and you alone taught this phoenix to fly.


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