Where has it gone?

The audacious flame, the thunder, the spark, the unstoppable desire.

Oh sweet child, walking through these thorny gardens, don't you miss that Wildfire?

You have seen those grief laden allies and dreadful ditches,

you have breathed in the air that makes mighty mountains cower,

the one that gave you wings to fly above all the confining hedges and restraining towers,

don't you miss that Wildfire?

Where has it  gone?

The zeal that made you destroy the hounds of darkness,

the whisper of courage that made you roar like a lion.

And the instinct that shielded you from all the treacherous liars.

Wasn't that your luminous Wildfire?

Come hail, Come rain, or the screeching thunderstorms,

standing tall, oh child, you faced them all with might that even warriors would admire,

never doubting yourself once, you marched on, relying solely on that Wildfire.

These noises that you hear, urging you to heed.

To heed to the futile norms, to heed to the bleat of every sheep,

cautiously thrusting you inside a box.

Mark my words, oh sweet child,

even though they may seem urgent and dire,

do not let them put out that  Wildfire.

As with every drop of tear and blood,

you had carefully birthed this unflinching flame,

that glistens and glows over your Empire,

as every once in a while, you look back at that graveyard of trembling fears,

don't forget, how all of that transpired.

For you, my brave child, were meant to possess that Wildfire.