Art is seldom encountered...

More often, it is created.

The Ballad of Phoenix

 It is cold,

And getting colder.

So she cups her own flame

Like a lone lantern in the wind—

For no other soul would step forward

To tend its trembling light.

The glow is tender,

Like a hearth against the void,

Comforting...

Until it swells into a silent wildfire,

Turning her into ashes,

But never burning into eternal destruction.

Innocence is a small white flower,

And wisdom is the forest behind it.

Shadowed, ancient, and knowing,

She stepped beneath those branches.

Yet knowledge when gathered 

Becomes a storm of wings in the mind.

Chaos, an agony of thoughts

Scatter like startled birds.

So she longed for silence,

A lake without ripples.

But then, silence has its own ghosts,

They murmur in bottles

Left open in a private bar.

And only she, 

Can turn it into a flicker,

Drifting in cinders,

Dying like embers.

Though she drifts from the path

The world once drew for her,

She still walks with a pilgrim’s grace,

Draped in the bittersweet fragrance

Of truth’s sharp petals,

And of soft blooms of honesty.

Thus the road lengthens before her,

Like a ribbon of frost.

For it is cold,

And getting colder.

So she cups her own flame

Like a lone lantern in the wind—

For no other soul would step forward

To tend its trembling light.

The glow is tender,

Like a hearth against the void,

Comforting...

Until it swells into a silent wildfire,

Turning her into ashes,

But never burning into eternal destruction.

A Joy in an Empty Cup

 But there is joy in an empty cup—

A kind of happiness

You don’t notice

While it’s still full.

Because an empty cup

Means you enjoyed your coffee,

Your heart feels warm,

And your soul is happy.

Let's take a shot for the beautiful morning...

For the coffee and the warmth it brings...

The cozy weather and the cheer it gives...

For the moment and the nostalgia that lingers after. 

 

We live the moment...

And capture the memories ❤️