A fire burns, its embers bright,
its flames consume the light,
it churns out black that replaces the white.
Its smoke gives birth to a being of spite,
charred and ready to fight.
To harm is its aim,
to deliver justice its claim.
It pushes the spring winding it tight,
Mistaking its shrunken size for might.
It releases the spring with pride,
the spring hits him with a quick stride.
It passes through his smoke, causes no pain,
but a lesson does the being gain.
He is nothing but the smoke unreal,
created to carry out a fictitious ordeal.
What is the ordeal that gave it credence,
it is vindication and its harming presence.

“The emperor walks down the road,
a path that, since youth is his abode.
His head a silvery crown,
his body covered with a wrinkled gown.
The empire he had in his hands,
now passed to the princes and their nobel bands,
The queen he loved has already walked,
the exact path where fate was chalked.
Only his childhood advisor remains by his side,
always there matching his stride.
The king asks his friend for one last advice,
“Tell me true, name your price.”
“Where are we to finally go?”
The advisor replied, his wisdom aglow:
“From eternity we came and there we go.”
The King smiled and looked at the light,
the path towards infinity indeed was bright.”