The Light

It burns bright inside of us all.

The fire is ignited by the torch weaver.

He is well kown to the one with in whom the fire shall grow.

With in every minute that time passes, them close or far apart, the fire rages on growing in its own strength.

Some flicker, grow dim with in its light, while it grows with its rage.

Hating those that shine in its light and warmth.

As it steems it whispers to its life line, the same that holds its demise, asking for the revenge it seeks in the fire that casues it to grow weak.

It grants its wish and blows everyone of them out.

Till one small fire, burning solely with rage must warm them all to just carry on through the day.