Your Spark
The nights were long
and lacked of rest,
my head: aching,
my body: tense.
The cold air
and cold stone
made my firing hope
dim and flicker,
and I needed a kindle.
As always,
he stood tall and tireless.
"I wish we had a fire,"
I murmured.
and he nodded.
Then he threw his head back,
and chuckled at a joke yet to be told.
"Do you remember..."
and the sparks burst forth,
from his wide mouth
and star catching eyes.
Some fell short and laid to die,
but others hit and began to blaze.
Soon I was aflame once more,
and ready to take on
this cruel, cold world.
But looking back,
what a fool I was.
I thought him a torch,
lending replenshing flames,
but truly he was a flint rock,
wasting away with every given spark.