A Myth of Fire

when the daylight tore through the paper labyrinth,

she asked if she could be forgiven for the ills

that she had brought upon the earth below,

but the god of spite would not give her mercy

because begging was a human condition,

hardly fit for a girl of burning thorns.

when the fire began to stir and awaken,

she tried to warn the mortals suffering,

but they all ran from her, terrified and awed,

because her eyes were twin suns in her face,

her hands carrying all the light of a thousand worlds,

powers too great for anyone to wield in passivity.

when the flames licked the soil in decimation,

she cried tears of lava that ran along every crack,

and the fear among the mortals only grew

as they watched a flaming woman stand

among so much chaos and destruction,

more than they had ever seen in their lives.

when the ash rain began to fall from the sky,

finally she began to cool, her powers quieting,

and it was not long before the mortals took her

to pay for her crimes and sins against them,

but her skin began to crumble into her own ashes,

scattering like a bad dream broken in the night.

when it was all over, only a small firebird remained,

born from the soot and the smoke, and its beak

opened in a lament as if it were in mourning

for a mistress it had never known, a girl

who had burned too bright too soon,

only to become a legend before her time.