Phoenix Down Poem by Pedro Cescon

(To Ashlea Schneider)

When selfish gods saw it,
Their envy engulfed their heart,
They sworn that, bit by bit,
Would break the Phoenix apart,

For its beauty they tore its feathers,
And when they felt it enough,
They stormed over it the weathers,
Thinking would be enough rough,

For its speed they tied its wings,
Trying to halt advance,
And making use of invisible strings,
Tried to break its stance,

For its efficiency they cut its claws,
As well as they broke its beak,
As so wouldn't be able to caw,
Nor to eat, to sing or to speak,

And at Phoenix' very last hour,
When the last left was tears,
It was left in the highest tower,
In name of those gods' vileness and fears,

But from its feather's ashes' dust,
Bathed by the first sunlight,
Rose from a bright golden gust,
A young one golden kite,

Sun shone so hard on its featherless skin,
That now sun ran through its veins,
Now were feathers without any akin,
Where the sun's fire remains,

Flew so long with wings tied,
That now had no hind,
As for in them such a strength lied,
That now it produced its own wind,

And instead of killing limbs,
Now had in everything it owns,
The power in which life clings,
In tip of every of downs,

And son of all elements,
Its ashes could be its birthplace,
And to each and all extents,
Once more was embodiment of grace,

And to the envious gods,
Saw no fair in claiming revenge,
And, against all odds,
Called square, without any avenge,

Was too great to make this use,
So precious to be tainted like that,
So it forgot all the abuse,
In hopes it would be best,

From the beginning was hope's word,
Because it never lost its faith,
And believed in the goods of this world,
Even though all the fear and the wraight