Love, the metaphorical fire that burns

Within the hearts and souls of human kind

Where those not yet consumed still fondly yearn

To swiftly light that torch that strikes men blind.

They see but golden rays to keep them warm,

Soft glow to stave off loneliness and night;

Yet from such flames, infernos oft are born

Consuming all that dares remain in sight.

Love’s ardor wanes most fast when scorching hot

And reason first succumbs unto such blaze;

More radiant the flame, more black the soot

That sullies hearts with every mind to craze.

Love’s searing heat is best by hearth contained—

For it warms best where passion lies restrained.