Rousing and dousing the spark
Fire rages deep within the soul of every being capable of kindling thoughts, striking bits and shards of concepts and persistent enough to keep on striking until a fire is ignited inside. That persistence could at times be a madness, a sort of insanity that grates inside the head like an irritating frictional echo ringing in the eardrums, or it could be the determination to make something out of those passing insights and interrogations in the head. In the former, the fire is an accident born of a madness, in the latter it is an illuminating glow burning to seamlessly merge the striking bits. And thus rages a fire in everyone; some, furiously red as to drive the soul into a sleepless, tiresome struggle to hammer out something impressive and exotic in their self-kindled anvil; some, a soft glow, just enough to show them what they stand for. Some say, and mostly out of experience hold it that such flames can be doused easier than it was made, like the tiny flame of a la