Nothing more than words. . .

I try to ignore
what's deep inside me
so the daily grunge can go on
until that day is done and I can close my eyes.
But it's a Phoenix
banked ember-bright down within
and hunkered within its own fires
and desires
scorching my untempered mind.
Useless ash then is scattered
to the four winds fanned
by the release of its flaming wings,
and it keeps burning
as though there is something left
more substansial than illusions;
a face,
a name
but never more
than a searing memory.