In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Tyger the poem reads,
You burn bright
And like that fatalistic moth of old,
I am consumed by that flame.
My plumage is fiercely colored,
Jewel tones of emerald, amethyst and carnelian
Long flowing feathers stream behind me
Unconstrained by any boundary and I am
Facile in movement and song,
A glorious splatter of color against the brilliant blue of the sky.
Attracted by that brightness,
I am captured into your consuming presence
And I burn to ash
Only to rise again into my natural splendor.
It is ashes to ashes, dust to dust, but I am caught in a never-ending cycle
Of color and ash, song and sorrow, completeness and brokenness.
Are we stuck in this lifeboat?
You and I? We have, between the two of us
Fascinated and used up all in this boat with us.
Your charisma and my obsessions have either burnt them up
Or driven away all but those whose armor is strong
Or senses are dulled.
Will your essential tygerness and my volatile nature co-exist?
Will my forest continue to be friendly? Or will I have to leave?
Yet this lifeboat is all I can hang on to until we reach land.
You are no pussycat
And I am no owl.
A Tyger and a Phoenix went out to sea…