Friction and Flame

A swift strike brings a crack, a sharp little sound,

     sparks fly to life with a hesitant hiss,

     a moment of tension, a warmth to be found,

     igniting the shadows, the flicker of bliss.

That small motion cradles the weight of the past,

     reminding me softly of forgotten nights,

     where candlelit whispers danced bright and fast,

     now rekindled with memories—tattered delights.

The flame, it burns low, yet embers still glow,

     revealing the corners of all that I've sought,

     a light in the dark, the past lingers slow,

     but amidst that warmth, clarity is caught.