Snuffed

How they burn so lovely they do.

The cinders that float from you.

What a chance for warmth in a world so cold,

Yet what a cost to my heart if the flame continues to grow.

Will it burn me?... Yes.

Will it char this withered soul? Maybe so,

But the numbing is unbearable, and the chilling dark unforgiving.

And your flame is the gift that keeps on giving.

For you help me see, bring me food and comfort.

And the stories from your hearth have their own worth.

Many have danced around your light, stoked you, found purpose within you.

As I have under every moon.

However, playing with fire is my bane.

And your heat is what keeps me sane,

Because I know without it my heart would freeze over.

My skin would harden, my fingers would frost, and my breath would grow colder.

So I feed you, stoke you, play with you, talk to you... Like an old friend.

Someone, something, I'd nurture to my very end.

Something, someone, the last beautiful thing to dance in these eyes.

A force I'd feed till their presence ascended towards the sky.

So when the rain came, I built a shelter,

Despite your smoke suffocating my lungs.

And in return you helped me fend off the Wolves; kept me company for months.

And when the snow fell, I carried you down the hill; found us a cave to keep you well.

And in exchange you gave me friends that dance along the walls.

And conversation that crackled lightly from your logs.

I'd carry you wherever I went,

No matter how much kindling was spent to keep you ablaze.

And your flame would've grown stronger in the coming days.

Then one night I saw your sparks in the sky frozen still in time.

Only they weren't your sparks, but the stars burning in the void.

And your flame was snuffed to a pile of ash, cold and dark, absent of heat.

If I'd known the end was to come sooner, I would have set you free.

Because I'd rather have seen the world burn and watched you dance for eternity.

I'd rather my last moments have been under your light than in the shadows of my own mind.