My heart busies about as a moth before a flame;
shaped and muffled it turns over and over again.
From one concern to another,
fighting the fights and sealing the shames,
of a journey that has yet to be named.
Clarity and then shadows fall into place,
where hearts filled not with love,
come home to reign.
Would love be easier if not challenged by struggle,
or is it the struggle that wins victory's name?
Nay, it is victory all the same.
Let love be not a game.