Ecstatic Flame

I am madness in rapture, borne on an airy steed,

A glint from her beloved eyes that stirs the silent need.

What am I made for? I know not—only feel the flow:

Now a mood, now melody, a voice that won't let go.

I am flame descending to the heart’s secret well,

A jingling joy, a timeless bliss, a lovely drunken spell.

In your veins, a fever—I'm a quivering flame,

A spark of radiance, burning pure with passion’s name.

I am nothing—just the wind, heaving joy on joy,

With tears in cheer, with smiling eyes—both grief and glad alloy.

Speak up, my madness, tell me what you weep with me!

I dance a spirited step that sets your blood all free.

Am I illusion—or unfolding grace anew?

A reckless steed in reflection's maze, swift in view?

Or made of steady beat and jingle, heard above—

A prayer ascending on the wings of endless love?