Phoenix rising

This phoenix that

Rises from burned

Out ash is

None other than

That truth, that

Inner truth, 

That inner truth

Laying within the

Moribund, rotted

Corpse of living

Burned open to itself

Phoenix rises.

There is letting go

Here, is letting go of

That which mattered

Which held all

Together made sense

Of that world too

Refined to grasp any

More too smooth,

Lost of their

Roughened their edge

Upon which we

Might grasp.

To smoke, to ash

The comfortable, the

Smoothened mask upon

Which we dance,

Transmuted to

Energy, to something

New and powerful

In a world that

Needs neither.