Answer:
Searing 'cross the pitchΒ-black skies, I scream in celebration, Yet moments later, my outburst through, I am naught but imagination.
I look at you, you look at me, I raise my right, you raise your left.
To unravel me you need a simple key, no key that was made by locksmith's hand. But a key that only I will understand.
You heard me before, yet you hear me again, then I die. Until you call me again.
A shimmering field that reaches far. Yet it has no tracks, And is crossed without paths.
It weighs next to nothing but no one can hold it for long. What is it?