Engulfed in a ball of glorious flame
His gift, now a weapon he's forced to wield.
Only eighteen, drafted, and I'm to blame
The Torch stands tall over the battlefield
Stripped of his name and home, to fight this war
That's not his own. His flame spreads fear and pain,
A secret beauty, I watch evermore
From the safety behind the window pane.
Years passed, and I forgot it's vivid burn.
But then, at sea, I found his flame again
We find ourselves at war-- nowhere to turn.
Through thick and thin his hand in mine, and then,
Until the end of time, he will be mine.
The royal light and brilliant flame will shine.
My first attempt at a sonnet. From the prospective of the my oc, the prince. As a bit of context, the Torch is the nickname of a character who has fire abilities (think fire bending) who was drafted into the long-lasting civil war by order of the prince.