First Among Flame By Myart&cigars=Heaven

First Among Flame

Not every fire deserves the name it claims;

some merely smolder, chasing borrowed flames,

but I was cut from cedar built to climb,

a wrapper rolled for reaching past all time.

The room falls quiet once the ash grows long.

Excellence never shouts, it simply stays strong,

burning steady through the lesser days,

while others fade beneath the trend's quick blaze.

A thousand sticks may light the same dark night,

but only one will burn with even light.

The rest go harsh, uneven, quick to fade,

while mine keeps drawing what the masters made.

I've tasted cheap, the kind that burns too fast,

all flash, no finish, gone before it's passed.

But greatness lingers, slow upon the tongue,

a story earned, and never merely sung.

To be the best is not to wear a crown,

it's earning every ash that settles down.

Each gray inch fallen marks a battle won,

proof of the fire faithfully begun.

When smoke has cleared and every voice falls still,

the truest flame still answers to its will.

Not loudest in the room, but most refined,

the best was never rushed, it was designed.