A Soul Ignitied

Deep in the empty caverns of the hollow soul is a tattered and broken wick of charred passion. Left blackened by the flame of an inadequet fire. Though a dreary place, there is a slight eminance of symbolic beauty. Uncertainty rules with an iron gavel hammering down on the yearning winds. The slightest glimmer of light eminates with a gentle warmth. The winds intensify to the growing heat that melts the ice of time. Submerged in the water of the passing time the wick is distant from the heat surrounding. Will the heat last until the water is gone? Or will the winds give up to the hardening sands? The gavel of uncertainty strikes again with an explosion of hope from the brightest light. The miracle complete. The wick once again lit with a proper fire this time protected. The winds yearn no more as a new passion burns within.