Mercer's Poems
A Phoenix

A wandering soul, bereft of being
touching not Earth nor other,
flittering like crippled butterfly wings
through rising sun and glittering moon.

Atop his head, no crown of thorns
but shards of glass, regret and poison
past mistakes weighed down his frail frame.
And laughs betray his sorrow.

Every stumble, every step
every mumble, every drop
another piece of broken heart 
would tumble, brined and burst.

Until the day he saw a vision
a dancing beam of pulchritude.
within this light he saw the truth.
No shadow there to see had he.

And so with might he forced a rage
and set his corpus into flame
a sacrifice, for why? To dream
of bathing in that dancing beam.

The wafting tang of charring flesh
begat the nostrils of all acquainted.
A soul destroyed, a soul so tainted
upon the Earth as ash.

Then from the dust, bedazzling wings
and wondrous calls and rampant songs.
From charred remains arose the phoenix fair.
The body of good from dirt of wrongs.