The Phoenix | April Yao (9)

The clock ticks, click click click

like a bomb waiting to blow,

time moves on, even as her movements slow,

as the day goes by, alas all will continue to grow.

As and the flaps of her beating wings diminish

turning into steady footfalls with a reluctant pause

her head turns to face the front, watching the finish of the hour.

As the hand tips to the right, a bell is struck,

a new beginning, a symbol, turned real in front of her eyes.

her fiery body disintegrates, turning to ashes.

As the minute ends, a shape is formed,

a flame risen with color returned

a body made that stands the trials of time

just as the clock makes a chime.