Feenix

Death is irrevocable
Irreversible…like time
Once a vision blackens
And a shutter is downed
Then the only blaze that remains
Is at the morgue
Ashes born –
Only to merge again
In the elemental whole.

For we are mere humans
Not characters of mythic proportions
Of clay we are made
Only to fuse with earth again
Never to emerge again
But in stories of the supernatural.

Such is the story of feelings
It will not take rebirth
It is a human phenomenon
Not a creation of the imagination
Or of fanciful hopefulness
Like a phoenix.

For a phoenix dies to rise again
But feelings stagnate into oblivion
I remind you dear sir…
Maybe you spelt it wrong…
It is feelings…not feenix
It isn’t just a blunder of the suffix.