The flame doesn’t burn bright.
More like a flicker, spit and sputter of a wet wick.
It had in the past…bright, hot and passionate.
That fire burned fast and uncontrolled, letting a heap of ash.
I brush myself off. Hold my head high. Burned, but not burned out.
girlboxer1970 
I’m sorry you feel this way. I’m glad your inner fire is still burning – even if you have been burnt. You are strong – hang in there. x
hope the fire nevers burns out …great poem……..thanks