Everything turns to fuel
Beneath the flame of time.
Even the youth we once held,
Burning with fierce intensity,
Has crumbled into ash.
Memories are but kindling,
Flaring into brilliance for a fleeting breath,
Only to leave behind a hollow, consuming dark.
Even the damp wood of our hope
Crackles and weeps within this blaze.
Love is fuel...
Hatred is fuel...
In the end, we are but travelers
Destined to evaporate slowly
Under the searing light of this fire called time.
Nothing endures.
Even the fleeting instant of "now"
Is already devoured and consumed.
And yet...
Under the light of that very flame,
Our shadows
In forms that never were, nor will be again
Were granted a brief moment to dance upon the earth.
If burning is a loss,
Then the radiance is our proof;
A testament that once,
In the heart of the fire,
We shone.
If time is the flame,
We are more than just fuel to be burned...
We are the sparks
That stir the brilliance into life.
Lann