They say they can’t see the fire in me,

Is my passion meant to burn so bright?

Is it meant to give warmth to those around me?

Whatever happened to the slow and sure burning of a lamp?

The lamp,

My personal guide,

A companion to the journey within.

Why do they want to see my passion turn up as wildfire,

Burning ever so bright,

For all of universe to see,

Leaving only ashes in its wake.

We’re no phoenix,

To be born again from the ashes,

We’re mere mortals,

Make doing with our numbered breaths,

Ignited by tiny sparks of life,

Keeping the flame-a-burning,

Right until the end.

Until then,

Our flame fights even the wildest of tempests

So as they say,

Burn, burn through the night,

You have enough in you,

To cast a soothing mellow light.

For no matter what they say,

You need not be a raging fire,

To shine as bright.

You’re you,

And that’s all right.