The Fire was quiet,
The fire was quick,
No one saw it leap from the candle stick.
No one knew of the people inside,
No one heard thier anguished cries.
The fire was parched and looking for life,
When it found the people there inside.
They cursed the gods for thier cruel sense of humor.
The fires shadow loomed in all sense of numbers.
When the smoke reached the people there inside,
It choked thier screams to desprate sighs.
They found the bodies the very next day,
But none of the spirits found thier way.
There was a shard of hope however slim,
For they found a small child with ashes on his skin.
He was the life amung the dead.
He had survived what the strongest could not.
So I tell you,
That when you feel burned away by life and have lost a limb,
Just look for a small child with ashes on his skin.
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