The Spark

A seed was planted some time December,

Around the summer months arose this ember,

Who would of known the ember had the passion of a winner,

And even in the cold months of winter,

His spark would rise about the other saints and sinners,

Even though he never gave a fuck about what he had for dinner,

His whole revolved around this center,

With few friends over the years he went to his inner,

Came up with so many fine ideas they might give you a splinter,

Found out his emotions was deadlier than swallowing paint thinner,

He puts the pen to the paper then lets his thoughts simmer,

Write, rewrite, read repeat till the lights in his room starts to flicker,

Till his head hurts and body feels even sicker,

But this isn't the end the plot gets thicker,

The he I speak of is a little slicker,

For he is me and we are quicker,

And the love for this craft is bigger,

Than maybe that of the Almighty Figure,

For his spark is brighter than any star, moon, or light fixture.