Passion. It is as wild as a rose and speechless too;

Love. A mark of devotion;

Often the word shall pass the lips of man;

But to be said and meant, is less likely.

Love is but an instinct;

But a method to keep this race alive.

So that we may walk the earth again and survive.

Perhaps that mark of devotion is simply a cloud in the mind of man.

If so, then let the mist leave my mind;

Recede from me like youth.

Let the hills fall silent and let brutality win;

For love will not keep our minds sane!

We are mad men crowded on this earth;

Living for the heart of another and not our own;

And yet it is such a pleasure!

To love and be loved.

So let hands be cast to the sky;

Wrist dry of blood, body lost of life;

And pray that not us

But those we love survive;

We will die starved;

But our hearts will live eternally;

Love a bitter memory to the body

But to the soul, an opportunity.

We will become great souls;

And though our race my die.

We die as brother's should-

With a heart filled with love

And the mind, echoing 'What if we ruled?'