Answer:
Searing 'cross the pitch-black skies, I scream in celebration, Yet moments later, my outburst through, I am naught but imagination.
This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountains down.
My life can be measured in hours. I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick. Fat, I am slow. Wind is my foe.
What is that you will break everytime you name it?
Men have one, women two, and when they become family, it’s three. What is it?
A doctor might remove one from the neck of a Dracula victim.