Phoenix
By Elder J. Mahlon Allred
There's a constant nag
In the back of our head
Though not always clear
Like covered by a bag
Or in a dark corner of a shed
It's rarely close, though always near
More a throbbing ache rather than a stab
The pain never goes, one just accepts
When darkness grows, our eyes adjust
Even so, when life gets drab
The beauties age and we forget
The pleasantries we had grown to trust
And our life may seem frozen, yet we burn like fire
We rise from the ashes as we have been inspired
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