It begins as a spark.
A little flicker of driftwood and hope
Wavering in the dark.
Just a speck, like a star;
Wish upon it, day and night
Consumed, it's dancing with fervour.
Warmth may tempt your frozen veins
But blue is where you'll burn.
The dark is no longer dark,
But instead shadows roam behind.
Who's hiding? Who's waiting?
Who's kindling their own spark?
At first I titled this "Burn", but then when a friend read it, they didn't see it as ambition (understandably as it's quite vague) and though I know readers are meant to interpret it however they want, but I feel like you can't fully appreciate this unless you realise it's talking about Ambition. So I'm not sure whether to title it "Burn" or "Ambition".