I can't adjust my passions into words.
Mere letters on a piece of paper do them no justice.
The most ornate poem wouldn't begin to portray there magnitude,
For my pen cannot produce the fire my passions exude.

What i feel, i believe,
It cannot be explained.
Creatively listing the desires of my heart
Will only leave you uninformed of the thrill they generate in me.

Whether it's through love
Or maybe by hate.
Find the uncontrollable passions
That sleep in your soul.

Once you've awakened your resting desires
And this newly found rush is birthed into your life
You can try to write about it, though I think you will agree
The true passions,
The living, burning, and speaking passions
Cannot be adjusted into words.