The dying minutes of a fire,
Its flames still untouchable,
Embers lying in wait after they are gone,
Still very much combustible,
Like my triggers that you know so well,
And the passion in my heart,
Hot for being left to consume the world,
Ready, like those embers are.
Are they ever really snuffed,
Even after water reduces them to smoke?
Once so proud and righteous,
It can never die, I hope.
It lives on, I think,
Each time a flame ignites,
Every structure it topples,
Reminds me of its might.
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