it begins in the ashes, the smoking, festering remnants of what was once good. 

tainted with the loss of the thing, once so glorious, now

crumbling and decaying and dying.

the faults, so obviously displayed, beckon; a haven to the regretful, repining soul.

suddenly,

a phoenix rises from the ashes,

the good

spirals into the charred, smoky air,

spreads its hopeful wings.

awakens the dreary and dead landscape from whence it rose.

it reigns for a time. all is not lost, all can be well again!

a relapse.

the elegant bird bursts into flame and slowly, gently, settles.

it begins again, in the ashes.