The Rising Phoenix!

The awakening of a powerful force is what ive been craving.

The urge to call on others.

The power in my name.

The gift of the force that called upon me to pull me in.

The happiness inside of knowing the two forces together are more powerful than anything.

The images that are playing in my head are nothing but erotic.

The rising of a phoenix from the ash of memories and ruin of long past.

The continuation of a desolation since forgotten.

Born once over and over.

Seldom attention paid to resonates now in repeat as it always did in the spotlight, full and robust for my eyes to observe

eyes.

 A channel to my soul different now than years ago.

Tarnished and more worn brass than hindsight's polished silver.

Resurrection of a dead compilation

felt.

Fingertips tremble in the ink of requited sorrows.

Heart murmurs and skips like trees in wind shake unpredictably.

My brain boils and bakes liquefying among the quaking aches.

Shown bare on my aging face

all the ideals once embraced have given way to innocence lost through harrowing mistakes to reveal a permeating distaste evolving from simple physical sense into macabre self-decay.

In a bed I lay comprised of rags I've patched made from decisions aligned to persons, sometimes, often times, better left malign.

I now pretend.

I delve deep in fantasy, make believe idiocracy, that I embody personified nature.

A crashing wave amongst the protruding rocks in limitless riptide.

No undertow could pull my unwavering offense crashing into jaded cliffs.

No wind could conceive the fortified prowess of my towering mountain peaks, unwavering in their effortless defense, clear and present the aggress has been since the element war has been heaven sent.

Just as a desert has no hill nor dune unscorched by the sun, nor is it's scape unscathed by the undenying sands of undying time.

This desert once a jungle full of life ad thriving alive, gave way to pressure killing it's shallow vine as the water dove deep into the potter's mire underground, away from the sun's engaging fervor, snuffing out the dweller's existing on the scorched surface.

Time will without cease strive on, just as ocean's and her tide never fails to churn, all unpredictable, void of routine or govern.

The jungle becomes a desert, as a desert becomes a born again jungle.

I am becoming the desert.

The only personified nature I represent, is the ash that once spawned the phoenix returning back to desolation.

Black and empty of life, death from the flame of time. 

The ash of memories passed.

And so it goes on and on.