Watching the flames in the fire

wave back and forth.

Watching them dance and sway and glow.

But then they start to flicker,

then they start to fade.

They are slowly dying,

just slowly

fading away.

And I watch them fade and think how

I am doing the same.

Moving, but falling;

Dancing, but dropping;

Trying, but losing.

The flames are small now, they are barely there.

Several sparks fly, refusing to perish.

But then

the embers crackle and fade.

They are gone,

and I realize

so am I.

Bearing the Mark may be our only similarity,

but to him

we are one and the same.

Under his fist, I am just another shell,

just another shadow

of a flame.

Wearing the Mark may be the only thing that makes me like them,

but to him

I am still

exactly like them all.

Something that used to be so strong,

but in the end

will merely