The Stubble Phoenix

Each beautiful day starting with a loss

of memory that falls from off my face.

That blade which cuts my dreams from sleep’s rich cloth

leaves smooth skin presentable in its place.

Switch from sleeping peaceful in star lights’ wane

to stumble toward the mirror in the dark,

lean upon the wall where the shower drains

to switch the lights again and drown the stars.

A mad pursuit, this struggle to escape

from skin matured you keep up the restart.

And I see you; with every day you wake -

begin again this quest for a new shape.

Sometimes you’ve grown-in small, sometimes in part.

Each space I marvel at what time can take.

You are the new day! The renewed rising,

pushing out for reinvigoration!

I stare at your resolve. You are striking.

I bear witness to determination.

If only life could hold proud moments more

reflecting on the yesterdays that past

where you’ve learned that losses are something borne,

you define your glory in how you last.

I sigh, advance the saga I incite:

become destroyer, bring this phoenix fire.

One swipe and ashes fall to porcleaned tile.

One day more in a new self, if only slight.

I know I rise each day as you inspire,

my face now clean. The task is done. I smile.

How great the sunrise prepared for this day.

How great the stubble that is washed away.