His Recipe
A cauldron of hope,
An ounce of anger,
A ladle of loyalty,
A helping of selflessness,
A bunch of rebelliousness,
A handful of love,
A sprig of determination,
The list it goes on,
And the mixture it burned,
Always burning over a small spark,
A spark that grew suddenly,
Until it burned as a flame.
For he was a complex recipe,
And the fire kept burning,
Slowly engulfing,
Destroying the ingredients-
Which once made up his recipe,
Once the flame had finished,
The creation was apparent,
Or rather destruction,
For all that was left;
Was neither desired,
Nor required,
Just a physical form of empty;
A collection of ashes.
For he was a complex recipe,
One that was so great,
One that could have been greater,
But that was not his path,
For his recipe was right,
However the conditions not,
And he became a victim,
A victim of the flames,
Still standing there,
But there he was not,
He was lost and alone,
He was wounded,
And the injury broke him.
For he was a complex recipe,
And he could have stopped the flame,
The flame that scared him,
But he knew one thing;
If he was consumed in the fire,
The fire he had always willed for,
Then nobody else could ever-
Be taken by the flames of evil,
Because the evil would be gone-
Destroyed in his fire,
For the small sacrifice of his life;
Would create a world of justice,
A place of freedom.
For he is no longer a complex recipe,
Just cinders of an era gone passed.
a/n This kind of just happened during one of those evenings which I spend moping around over Gale, they seem to be happening more and more often. Anyway, I hope it makes some sense and wasn't too bad. Much love, Sophie Emma