The Rising Phoenix
Neath stormy shroud, I wildly cry,
Plumage sodden, my wings can't fly,
Rain's tears, hearts so cold,
Flame of hope takes hold,
Spirits bold,
Ghastly sky.
Author's Note:
Sailing through tempest in "The Rising Phoenix", a voice resounds. Feathers drenched, hearts ice-bound. Yet hope's fire kindles, spirits brave the abyss. In night's grip, the phoenix ascends, triumphant over shadows.
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