In the fire of Times

In the fire of Time is the rain
In the rain of anguish is the healing balm.
In the healing is the language.
And in the language is the magic enabling
to transcend sorrow.
I came in fear of the fire,
and instead, found the flame
that sprinkled dew-drops instead of spark.

The fire burns,
a brief flame,
engulfs and floods,
the crucible of Time flows over,
the melting complete,
Time has done its work.

The arms of the lover hold
the molten form of love,
the dross gone, the essence in the arms of the lover
A byzantine image is born.
Cherish, as long as you can,
now it belongs to the lover.