A thought is like a match’s flame

It burns the tired mind to life

And yet the fire has no care

Its passion moves it evermore

To seek more kindling for its throat

It hungers, drives the body mad

In haste, desiring it to act

Upon its ancient urges set ablaze

A splash of water of the flame

Will temper madness once unchecked

Refining passion’s blurring speed

It turns precise within the cold

Just like a blade, once hellish hot

Is cooled and dried. And only then,

Once honed, it does its proper work.

– theresurreccionofkevin