I Was Fire

I was fire and I believed I had a spark so uncontrollably powerful,
Kind of in the way lightning strikes a tree during a hot, summer storm,
But instead, the only thing I could shock was my mom when I told her I got an F.

I was fire and I needed someone to keep me going,
Kind of in the way butane increases the flames in a grill at a cookout,
But instead, I quickly turned into the gray and chalky charcoal that got dumped out when the party ended.

I was fire and I thought I could inspire people with my explosive words and actions,
Kind of in the way fireworks fill every inch of the sky on Independence Day,
But instead, I was just one of those defective sparklers that couldn't even entertain a six year old.

I was fire and I wanted to go out with a bang,
Kind of in the way a bullet flies out of a hunter's gun and hits the deer,
But instead, I was only able to take down a kid for a few seconds because I was just a splash of color in a paintball war.

I was fire and I hoped to help those who were lost find the right path,
Kind of in the way a candle assists people who need to find food in the kitchen when the power gets shut down,
But instead, I let my flare burn out before they could even get the bread down to make a sandwich.

I was fire,
But fire goes out eventually.