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Jisei-Sonnet :

The Heraclitan Bird Prepares For Death

Denied by all, the black and cursèd bird

Encased within the pang of pain and grieving,

And painted with a crest that sang deceiving,

Defied the world - corrupting all they heard.

By savage river hid from land absurd,

It made its rest in thorny nest believing

Rewards of love were never its achieving;

Deservèd of the judgement for its word.

To wander on in aimless wingèd travels -

How suffering had made its spirit fled,

Exiled, in crisis cries its frame unfed;

Exhausted still, its little will unravels -

Near setting sun, its world undone in red;

Defiled, the thirsting flame engulfs the dead.

Eudaemon-Sonnet :

Resurrection Of The Heraclitan Bird

Return to earth, that brought your birth, in ash:

Inside your hell, and raised unwell, your singing

Sounds silent now - at last these notes quit ringing -

Ensnared, your toil within the soil would clash.

But many beasts were phased by such a lash;

Instead the spirits mourn, as fountain springing -

Resolve to live, and leave your sorrow - clinging,

Despaired the beasts - so torn at brethren's crash.

For as they spoke that futile seeming prayer -

Like alchemy allows the metal turn -

You thus awoke with joyous croak! The urn

Now breaks in hopeful flight - you take to air -

O'er world of bliss, without the worlds that burn,

When fresh, with kiss to heaven, you return.