There’s a spark beneath the ash, so faint,  
A whisper carried on the wind,
A shiver in the silence—like a saint
who prays for peace, though broken thin.

A whisper carried on the wind,
When darkness presses close, too tight,
who prays for peace, though broken thin,
a flame still flickers in the night.

When darkness presses close, too tight,
A memory of light still calls,
a flame still flickers in the night,
and rises higher as it falls.

A memory of light still calls,
Through tears and scars, the heart learns grace,
and rises higher as it falls,
burning bright, yet leaving no trace.

Through tears and scars, the heart learns grace,
It rises, stronger, free to fly,
burning bright, yet leaving no trace,
a spark that whispers, “I will not die.”