Your Spark

The nights were long 

and lacked of rest,

my head: aching,

my body: tense.

The cold air

and cold stone

made my firing hope

dim and flicker,

and I needed a kindle.

As always,

he stood tall and tireless.

"I wish we had a fire,"

I murmured. 

and he nodded.

Then he threw his head back,

and chuckled at a joke yet to be told.

"Do you remember..."

and the sparks burst forth,

from his wide mouth

and star catching eyes.

Some fell short and laid to die,

but others hit and began to blaze.

Soon I was aflame once more,

and ready to take on

this cruel, cold world.

But looking back,

what a fool I was. 

I thought him a torch,

lending replenshing flames,

but truly he was a flint rock,

wasting away with every given spark.

 

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