Passion and prowess flare,
Yet they are mistaken as the fire that sustains.

One cannot hope to thrive on continually striking sparks,
One might soon split finger to stone and give up on light all together.

It is the birth of flame which you seek,
Not the brevity of misconception.

Tinder and tender breath,
Careful, cupped hands to defend from the wind;

The spark is only but a part,
Warmth will overtake;
Flash and flicker, from your mind:
Dissipate.