A Rising

The smoke swirls, a rising
intricate patterns lift from my view,
the sun has burned it's light into me,
memories of the fall before,
spiraling, spinning,
to the depths of death's door,
but oh, glorious life...
has touched me, once more,
as I rise to my calling,
feathers burning bright,
a flash across the sky,
slicing the darkest night.
A phoenix is meant to be free,
to live and die, is it's right
this bird cannot be caged,
even death cannot hold tight.

Reviews

[Dushyant Patni]

Pretty concise and well constructed, except for a minor grammar issue in the 2nd line, the poem holds up pretty well to scrutiny.
Although, I did have trouble trying to understand the context and the emotions that you try to convey, but maybe I just didn't really get it.
Great effort nonetheless, keep it up.