The Fire That Didn’t Burn

I built a fire in the dark of night,

Stacked it high, set it right.

Fed it dreams, fed it time,

Whispered wishes into its spine.

I struck the match with steady hands,

Watched the spark take its stand.

But the flame just flickered, weak and slow,

A silent ember, a hollow glow.

I waited long, through wind and rain,

Through whispered hope and echoed pain.

The wood was dry, the sky was clear,

Yet still, the fire would not appear.

Was it the weight of words unsaid?

The heavy ghosts inside my head?

The way you left without a sound,

Leaving ashes on the ground?

Or was it love that tried and failed,

A paper heart too frail, too pale?

We fanned the spark, we tried to learn,

But love like fire must choose to burn.

So here I stand, the match grown cold,

The kindling turned to dust and old.

No blaze to chase away the night,

Just dying embers, stolen light.

Not all flames are meant to rise,

Not all sparks can claim the skies.

Some fires fade, some never turn,

And some are just not meant to burn.