Answer:
Searing 'cross the pitch-black skies I scream in celebration Yet moments later my outburst through I am naught but imagination.
I spend the day at the window go to the table for meals and hide at night.
I am the word that has three syllables and twenty six letters.
My first half means container. Not a lot of people understand my language.
I go in hard come out soft. Blow me hard and I’ll make a pop.
It flows out of the soil, It burns you if it boils, And holds us in its coils, More valuable than gold, As black as it is old.