In realms where embers whisper tales of birth,
Two timeworn sticks, kindling a curious mirth,
Brushed in gentle dance, a tender flirt,
Awakening a life from realms of inert.
Beneath the cinder’s shadow, flickers a light so weak,
Trembling in silence, a voice yet to speak,
A spark newly born, a creature unique,
A tender flame-child, so soft, so meek.
Beseeching loving arms to cradle his frame,
In nurturing warmth, he seeks a name,
With a soft, crackling coo, he claims his claim,
In the hearth of existence, ignites his flame.
Through billows of care, he sparks, he sighs,
In smoky whispers, his spirit flies,
Entwining with air, his essence ties,
In the comforting arms where safety lies.
Gradually, the flame-child, he learns to roar,
Becoming a blaze, his spirit does soar,
Mightier, brighter than e’er before,
In fiery realms, he begins to explore.
Strength derived from the dance of his birth,
He grows and glows with unabating mirth,
Stronger than those who ignited his hearth,
A paradox of existence, of death, and rebirth.
He envelops them, a passionate, fiery maelstrom,
Engulfing those sticks, his once parental podium,
Devouring lovingly the hands that cradled his kingdom,
He dances, a radiant spectre in a fiery sanctum.
In his blaze, stories of yore are silently kept,
Of love, of creation, of tears silently wept,
In ashy remnants, memories are swept,
Yet, in warm, smoldering coals, love is adept.
Here lies the story, a cyclic dance divine,
Of creation and destruction, in a sacred line,
Where love kindles life, in realms supine,
And life pays homage at dissolution’s shrine.