Phoenix Rose

                                                              (Image from M1.behave.net)

She rose from the ashes

of her past best forgotten.

Phoenix, always the dancer

gliding through the ballroom

of life. Every man wants

her to be his wife.

She smiles, she shrugs,

brushing off the gray off

her shoulders even as her eyes

look around the greenery,

to tomorrow. Her feet take

her to travel in a chacha

that only knows moves forward.

The joy in her laugh slays
the cries of yesterday.

Tears dry into diamonds,

the most cherished of gems.

She calls out a name. It rhymes.