When a Phoenix Is Born

I dare you to steal from the gods.

When a Phoenix Is Born

[I heard a story once,

a man chained to a mountain

for he dared to steal from the Gods.

What he stole was

that singing voice in your head,

that makes your legs move,

your muscles vibrate.

What he stole was a chorus of flames,

dancing, lethal.

They made the soil fertile,

the legs stronger

the muscles vibrate.

We were given the fire

so that we could ingest

Its breath,

You are the flame

that Prometheus stole from the Gods]

I am not the missing tooth

on Luck’s shiny smile

I am Icarus with stronger wings

they are not made of wax

they’re made of steel,

that the sun can not destroy.

I packed my breath

and felt it on my back.

I don’t walk,

I feel the ground under my feet.

I win even when i lose,

‘cause i know that losing gives me time

to fix my wings and fly higher.

Higher.

I will skin the sun

and wear its aura.

I know who i am.

‘Cause I shook Luck’s hand,

And Luck smiled.

‘Cause we all are joyful burning souls.

I belong.

I belong to the sweat on my teammates’ lucky shirts,

to their winning toothy smiles,

to all the hours spent

trying to learn how to feel the ground under my feet

We are all phoenixes.

We burn,

and we wait to be born again.

surreal poetry
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