You, the Gestalt:
Or
The Phoenix and the Albatross
You are a rusted relic of splendor and ruin.
A tarnished tine jutting from the roiled roots of your
Imperial past.
A Sepulchral Sun.
Rising and falling in Your perennial production.
To me
You shine
LED-like within Your bleak and pulsing nights that seem to stretch unparalleled into the continuum.
and I cannot flake myself from Your
tinder skin.
A clever thief, You are.
Humored and intrigued by my adolescent albatross
attempting flight and failing
and failing
and gloriously failing.
Clamoring over myself to
simply
touch
down.
Painstakingly practicing the parts
of one simple act.
And You;
Effortlessly executing every element
fractured and flawless.
Each feather glowing.
Each wing a fortress.
Each death
a diamond.
This won’t last.
You’ll steal me just as You’d planned.
You’ll take all the parts You want
and leave the scaffolding scorched and barren.
You are a cruel game I play with myself.
It’s the only time I can predict who will win.
I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.
I just want
so badly
to be gracious in my ruin
and humble in my splendor.
Seamless as the sunrise.
I will never stop.
I will come back.
Even after it destroys me.