I became


I didn’t know

It made me prey

For wolves

With tempestuous


And they ate

Of my flesh

And I died,

Unfurled, bright red,

Passion and fear,

They did me in.

And I cried

So many rivers

Of broken sobs

At the injustice

Of the dance

Of beauty and death


Like the most

Delicate lace.

How cruel that

The moth craves

The heat of flame

And the wolf

Seeks to destroy,

Whilst the sun burns

Molten in the void.

But as the flame

Ignites the last

Bit of wood

In a pile of ash,

I grew warm

And sparked


And the death

That deemed

The beauty then

To die,

Also caused the me

I am now

To rise.

And again beauty

Links itself arm and arm

With pain.

Do I weep


Do I let the ache

Cause my spark

To void?

Do I lament

At this world that

Both devours

And births?

Or do I rise

Like the smoke

From the flame?

Aloft and away,

I can no more look

At this play,

Than my eyes can

Bear the sun,

And I’ve left rivers

In my wake


So lift me up

Tender heart,

Hold me long

Rib cage embrace,

And reach

Nimble fingers

Up and out

From charcoaled ash

And tempt the beast


Beauty has learned,

Crowned with thorns

And a heart

Through pain

Made brave.

-Angel Marie Russell