I know the fire hurts you,
when the flames are gnawing
on your flesh, like red-hot demons
clamoring to devour you whole.
It burns your skin and clothes
away, until you're left
completely bare before me.
You're crying for someone
to save you, but
I have not forgotten you.
I know the fire hurts.

O golden child of mine,
keep walking through the flames.
They shall not touch your soul,
but only dance across to polish
and to purify--
then leave their brilliant shadows
pressed upon its surface,
and you will come to me
shining brighter than the fire itself.
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