Of ashes

This is a vicious cycle, of how the ouroboros chases its tail, unable to escape its fate. The wheel turns, the world moves. Soon the fires will burn themselves into embers, soon all that is left will be grey, charred ash. This, too, will pass.





Sloughing off the layers of my former self,

I rise from the ashes,

Spread my wings,

Each feather a red-gold tongue

Proclaiming new beginnings.

There is irony embedded even within this triumphant proclamation, however-

Like the phoenix,

Am I doomed to always make the same mistakes?