Draft poem I wrote in Tokyo

Night falls,
the colours that shone
brilliantly in the sun
fade into a monochrome of pitch black.
Yet within the darkness,
endless as it seems,
a tiny spark ignites.
A flame is born, untamed,
as gold, orange and blue
interwined, carressing each other
in a dance of ecstasy.
It grew strong, defiant, and
waged war against its surroundings.
It hissed and burnt fiercely, engulfing the
Dead, dry twigs that lined its path.
A raging wildfire it was.
But try as it might, it could never conquer
The vast expense of night.
And so it struggled, futile, foolish;
Till, lying in the ashes
Of its own folly,
It faded to a final ember.
The last glimmer of hope
In the winter night
of my heart.