The Storm...

[The Last Blacksmith]

In the midst of darkness, a storm doth rise,

A tempest fierce, with wrathful cries,

But lo, amidst the chaos, a flame burns bright,

Defiant, unwavering, a beacon of light.

 

The storm may rage with all its might,

With thunderous roars and bolts of fright,

But the fire persists, its warmth prevails,

Undeterred by the tempest's fierce gales.

 

With crackling embers, it dances and gleams,

Casting shadows of hope in the darkest of dreams,

For the fire knows not the meaning of fear,

It defies the storm, remaining ever-clear.

 

The rain may pour, drenching the land,

But the fire's spirit refuses to be banned,

It licks the drops, its flames reaching higher,

Unyielding, unquenchable, a passionate fire.

 

The wind may howl, attempting to smother,

But the fire resists, its spirit like no other,

It flickers and flares, consuming the night,

Bathing the storm in a radiant light.

 

Though lightning may strike, in a dazzling display,

The fire's strength never falters, come what may,

It burns with purpose, a force to admire,

A testament to resilience, burning brighter and higher.

 

For the storm may rage, with all its might,

But the fire's spirit shall forever ignite,

Unyielding, unquenchable, in its desire,

A flame that the storm can never acquire.

 

So let the storm howl, let the tempest seethe,

The fire remains steadfast, it will never leave,

For within its essence, a truth rings true,

That even the mightiest storm cannot extinguish you.