A spark,
A tiny flame of hope,
lights a fire in us
that pushes away the darkness
that surrounds us.
Regal, our flame stands tall
and proud.
A friend
to protect us
from the looming threat
of burning out.
The fire stays aflame,
fighting our monsters
that haunt us day and night.
Our fire burns with our passions,
and that is the problem.
When we lose our passion,
our desire to love,
to enjoy life,
to simply be,
our lovely friend
can’t fight off the demons
for us any longer.
It may have been paradise,
while our fire lived,
but the warmth will never last.
The dark clouds close in
to ***** out
the lasts
of our precious flame,
of our precious hope.
There is nothing we can do
except watch,
and wait,
as our beloved
is torn from us.
Ashes all around us,
we see what we have done.
What we have destroyed.
Because without the light,
we cannot live.
With no more fanfare than
before it was lit,
we slip back into
our nightmares
in complete
darkness.
Another sad one. Sorry bout that, the words just spilled out. I was trying to write a happy one too. About hope and passion. But that clearly went downhill. Whoops.