Sparks.

There was a spark, and it burned bright for that one millisecond
Only to fizzle out in an even smaller infinity.
Can you forget that there ever was a light,
If all you've seen is dark for so long.
The memoir of that spark is written by hands that tremble in the dark
They tremble, they quiver but the words keep appearing.
Black words in the darker night.
And then again there is a spark
It burns its way through all the parchments
No more than a millisecond.
And the hands rise again
To catch the essence of the light that seems brighter than the last.