In a world of black and white dreams comes a few moments of vibrant color,

While these rich moments consume the minds of many souls,

only a few possess the authority to change their fate,

As for the cinder,

burned to black and worn of hellish fever,

Useless by nature, and as dead as soot, has the absurd potential to exceptionality combust

into flames of undoubtful energy.

Voices may criticize the manor of sudden change in personalities,

But as for the cinder, shine bright anyway.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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