Burning Echoes of Love: A Poetic Protest.

 My weary hands, fatigued from the act of writing, bear the marks of a deluge of romance that once rained down upon my soul. In the fiery heavens, akin to the realm of the divine, I had fervently thought of you, my beloved, and in doing so, I was scorched by the intensity of emotion. The pain, my dear, is a searing fire that courses through me, a relentless blaze.

Each moment, I find my soul entangled in a dance with the specter of death, as I confront the artifice of love, and life itself insists, "No matter what transpires, you must rise again." These words, like an incessant drumbeat, resonate in my consciousness.

Yet, despite it all, my love for you endures, unyielding and unwavering. It persists like a lion, once free in the wild, now a captive, paraded before throngs of onlookers as if a mere commodity. It's a love akin to the lion's yearning for the untamed wilderness, a longing to seek refuge in a cold cave for a few precious hours amidst the scorching heat.

Within the realm of my poems, there's a silent protest brewing, as if my words themselves rebel against their own meaning. The letters cascade down the poetic street like slogans shouted by a passionate crowd, each character demanding to be heard, to be understood.