Thursday, September 8, 2011

9/8/11

Phoenix
By E.S. Wynn


As my body stirs from its cold slumber, I know it is time.

I flex, and the nanomorphic metal of my wings flexes with me, shivers and reshapes, shifts through a catalog of aerodynamic profiles. The impulses of electric life shimmer through me, and then I am awake, alive, the heat of my core flaring up, catching fire. The reactor at the center of my soul is spinning, burning, a sun flinging flame through steel and self to light my senses, bring thunder to my mind. The hangar echoes with the roar of my fiery awakening, flickers as the fire spreads outward from my core, burns electric through every line and focus, every processor and optic cable, leaving none unheated, none untouched. The fire of the sun is in my veins, roars through my metal flesh in a song more felt than heard,

and then, I am free.

Like a hawk, I embrace the stars, the night, the sky. Like a phoenix, I carry my fire into the darkness, burn with all the brilliance of a tiny sun, unconquered, and carve a streak of molten white across the endless depths of a dying sky.

Like a phoenix, I am once again reborn.


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E.S. Wynn is the author of over thirty books.


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