A little poem

Passion.
The end,
All of the beginnings.
And unlike the other emotions, it likes to roar.
So passion in its recklessness stands alone,
Passion sings and rattles sorrow’s drone.
Her loveliness never fades,
Un-likened to Love’s silly renegade.
And its strangeness
Stands solitary to the groups of jealous molecules
She only quivers towards anger’s spite and ridicule.
Passion is primal, she is only nature’s fool.

Passion only longs to be.
Passion is the only part of life
That aims to run free.
It’s the only living part of me.