Salvaged Fire
Ash rains where the laughter died.
Debris chokes the broken street.
We sweep with calloused hands,
searching for a spark, for heat—
the skyline, jagged as broken teeth,
still promises something living underneath.
Heartbeat drums its stubborn code:
carry this. carry this. carry this.
They think we’re buried. Done.
Think the night swallowed the sun whole.
But we claw our way out of the mire,
pull rhythm from thin air,
kindle a fierce revolt
in the hush of shattered glass,
laughing loud at the ones who quit,
striking like lightning.
We light our joy on disaster’s bones.
Fierce. Raw.
In the dark we own,
in every crack we find the flame.
It isn’t much.
But it’s enough.
We don’t need the perfect shine.
We know this wreckage
is still yours and mine.
Twisted metal cuts the sky.
Underneath the smoke and gray
we dance between the busted pipes,
living for just one more day—
storms can’t drown the spark we clutch.
So let the ruins stretch wide and far.
We rise in the glow of who we are.
Salvaged fire. Burning higher. Unbroken.