In the sweet agony, my wings were torn,
Yet in that ache, a new dawn was born.
Through the bitter night, I felt the strain,
Of shattered dreams and unquenched pain.
But in the dark, a whisper spoke,
A voice that stirred the smoldering smoke.
“Rise,” it called, from deep within,
For even broken wings can mend.
The scars that marred my feathered skin,
Became the proof of strength within.
Each tear, each break, a testament
To battles fought and courage lent.
I found in pain a strange embrace,
A paradox of grief and grace.
For though my wings were torn apart,
They made a nest within my heart.
And from that place of hollowed ground,
A phoenix rose, no longer bound.
With wings of fire and eyes of flame,
I soared anew, reborn, untamed.
In the sweet agony, I found my flight,
The dawn that broke the endless night.
For in each wound, a lesson learned,
In every scar, a fire burned.
Now I rise, on wings restored,
No longer bound by what I was before.
For in the crucible of pain, I see,
The strength that lies in fragility.


© poembyselly