The Passion

Love forces, makes me write, changes my name with exotic murmurs waves on a far sandy shore. Love - can a body stand it? Touched by an inner God, I am clay in my own kiln worked, molded by fiery hands. Often I wonder why? Often I stamp a word into a silent cosmos. Change me not though, push me into that inferno. While others stare at a madman, I stare into a maelstrom glad to be this wide-eyed, this typing upon a typhoon traveling nowhere but here.