Like a Phoenix

The fire doesn’t roar

it hums,

a soft, slow song

of endings dissolving

and new beginnings.

It curls around the bones

of everything we thought we were,

a kiss of heat,

a tender goodbye.

It burns,

it hurts,

but it's never cruel.

It is the knowing

that nothing is lost

when the moment comes

to shed our skin.

In the flames,

the shadows we carried

melt away,

turning to ash,

soft as a memory

we can almost touch

but never hold.

The flames wrap around

like a lover,

fierce

familiar,

intimate,

taking what you’ve held too long,

turning it to dust,

so that you might rise.

Not broken,

but new.

Wings still smouldering,

eyes wide

in the light of rebirth.

This is how we end

not in despair,

but in the fire’s embrace,

its warmth urging us to unravel,

so we can be remade.

When the ashes settle,

we are rising like a phoenix.

No longer a shadow,

but a living flame,

alive

and unafraid

to burn again.