You fell in love with the fire,
burning bright and beautiful in her furnace.
Her warmth a beckoning call,
a siren’s whisper in the crackling heat.

"She burns," warned a distant voice,
but you paid no heed.
For you were iron.
you weld, you do not burn.
Or so you thought.

You crept toward her radiant embrace,
drawn by passion, by love, by longing.
And you knew her,
her joy, her sorrow, her fury,
blazing hot, consuming, relentless.

Then, as iron must when it meets fire,
you softened, you yielded, you melted.
Laid upon the anvil, the hammer struck.
once, twice, again and again.
Each blow searing, each strike reshaping.

The pain was unbearable, yet in it,
you found transformation.
Stronger, sharper, forged anew.
But iron dulls, as it always does.
And when time wears you down,
you will seek her once more,
her fire, her fury, her flames.

For you fell in love with the fire
burning hot and dazzling in her furnace.