Death is as beautiful as the birth
of civilizations,
like a sky lit by
supernova flares
galaxies out of thin air
risen
out of the star’s ashes
As beautiful
as a phoenix
first spreading its wings,
rain-drops from soot clouds
spawned over graceful gusts
from fiery feathers
soft like the soil tended
by their tears
Do we fly like phoenixes?
with eagle feathers in hair
on top of
light skulls of sugar with
brittle bones
Do we soar as high as our spirits stretch?
skies aren’t the limits
neither are the stars
when one goes out, another’s light
shines brighter than before
in their honor
Our feathers flutter like fall-en
leaves, breezes blow
& the chief knows, the wise owls
of our past outlast, their wisdom
whispered in the wind beneath our
bending knees, and dancing feet
swaying with ease
we please the clouds
our ancestors cry for us,
tears of joy that we
are alive, and they
aren’t forgotten
Branden E. Balenzuela, USA
The Social Poet 