A flame once thrived on outer heat,
In comfortβs arms, its life complete.
It danced on winds, so wild, so free,
Unknowing warmth could ever flee.
It never learned to guard its core,
Believed the warmth would ever pour
The world had fed its every spark,
And lit its path through every dark
But one still day, the skies turned gray,
The winds grew cold and pulled away
The warmth it knew slipped out of sight,
And left the flame to face the night
It gasped for warmth, for hands, for light,
But frost had chained its wings in flight
Its hues grew pale, its spark withdrew,
A golden heart turned cold and blue
It tried to shout, but none replied,
No flame to spark, no light to guide
It fought to burn but lost the fight,
Now flickered weak in ash and night
Deep in the dark, a whisper grew,
A hidden beat no one once knew
A memory kept, by heart it's known,
A spark that glows when all alone.
In that silence, a spark was born,
A brand-new blaze, untouched, untorn.
No sun, no wind could feed its flame,
It burned alone untamed, aflame.
It shed the wish for borrowed light,
And made its warmth against the night.
Not just to live, but to ignite,
And turn the freeze to glowing white
The cold around began to shift,
Its biting edge began to lift.
The flame, now still but burning deep,
Had taught the dark itself to weep.
And as the frost began to fade,
A dance of light and shadow played.
For even in the coldest night,
The smallest flame can birth the light.
