There is irony in fire
In how an element of brightness and warmth
leeches light from around it
and leaves charred remains in its wake.
But we are forged in flame.
The strongest among us are not destroyed
but are scourged and made new -
baptized in fire.
A blanket of ashes is the soil in which we plant a new seed
and the seedling's steel core is borne of heat and power.
It claws its way to new life
But never perfect
always willing to walk into the flames and start anew
This is not really rebirth.
This is a refusal to die.
And if each burning cycle does anything
It reminds us that heat rises
And the Phoenix is unafraid as she unfurls her wings
And catches the hot breath of the thermals beneath her
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