It starts with a spark.
A blinding synapse
that focuses your gaze
through a magnifying glass hovering over
The rest of the world becomes small and insignificant
compared to the sparking tinder.
So still, so quiet
you can hear your own breathe
fanning the flame within.
Flames that grow and sear away
sorrow, lick away tears, and
leap through the darkness.
The tinder is long gone but the years,
banked up in a comforting glow, remain
a warm bed to cradle embers.
You and I,
the spark, the flame, the ember.