(Poem) Fire Burn Hope Faith

I.
For you I write this poem
But you may never read it.
Should it remain trapped on the pages of a book
Forever buried in the dust of the past?
Or should I let the world see it and laugh at my dramatics?
To never lose my passion is my only wish
To never lose the fire that keeps me burning at night
Thought it may burn me up, it lets me know I'm alive.
Fire indeed consumes me; I know little else but fever dreams
Of a time and a place when everything made sense.
What logic is this that once enthralled my boring part on the world's stage?

II.
The stage is a charred husk of its former self.
The light of day reveals the reality of the scene.
The world cannot contain these lines it seems and lets the ashes blow in the wind
For you it seems these verses were written; for you the pen has bled itself of ink.
The player cries because her scene is unfulfilled
The magic is gone it seems, if it was ever really there.
This emotion seemed real enough and the heat felt hot and seems to hurt still
For me my coals burn as much, though the embers flicker duller a little
But a spark of hope remains.    The fire does burn still.
Optimism is my only friend and a willingness to accept the possibilities is a gift I treasure.
Burn a little longer, love, and my inferno will be renewed as if it never stopped.