There on the hill,
A heap of ashes,
Though not an ordinary pile of ashes,
No, not of a dead kind either,
Nor a forgotten smudge of something that once was,
Rather a telling of a story, a revelation, not yet finished,
But for the moment, reduced to dust,
For once there was something so perfectly glorious before it was kindled and enflamed,
Yes, a baby bird, naked and exposed to the world,
Beautiful and unique in its kind,
Yet hated and scorned for the truth its beauty brought,
A small taste of glory not of this world,
And so, it grew and grew until the heavens declared that it was a bird like no other,
Even the sun and sky parted for this bird who possessed no feathers,
Hunted and burned was this helpless babe for its beauty could not be comprehended,
There on that hill it lies,
A heap of ashes,
Though only for now…
For from those ashes will that bird rise,
Fully feathered in flames of glory,
A beak of justice and talons of bronze ember,
Its wings shall spread in all its splendor with a cry mightier than a lion
And then its beauty shall be understood,
Burning the eyes of those who once scorned it while pleasing the souls of those who long embraced its revival,
From on that hill of Zion, will a great and magnificent bird, once innocent and helpless; now brimming in full splendor come to judge the living and the dead,
But until then, I shall sit here and cherish these ashes while I still can and tell of its former and coming glory,
Mar my soul with soot of burned dust! Color my soul with these ashes and may they signal a great day to come when from this dust, a Lord more glorious than a phoenix shall arise!