Sparks

Not even a spark.

This one was vapor.

But still the pressure built, demanding attention.

A spark.

This one tried to catch.

A weak flame erupted.

A year of work to catch it,

Rewarded with the pittance of a few months to burn.

The distant light.

It beckoned, shown at the end of the tunnel.

But only an allusion. 

Sleep ripped it into the night.

The shadow of a spark.

Gone unnoticed until its gone.

Remnants tell a story,

But it is lost to the past.

The fickle spark.

It flies and spits,

But catch it will never.

Playing with it is tempting,

But a burn is ensured.

The coals.

They are warm and inviting.

No explosion.

No spit.

Only shelter.

The fuel.

The most versatile.

Light up a calm kindling,

Or strike up a wild flame.

Not reusable, but sustainable.