Burning Bush

The fabled Burning Bush's flame was surely paled
When held in comparison to the spark between us,
For now I see it was not a spark at all but
A wild brushfire, consuming all that attempt to thwart it.
We will hold out our hands to its might,
We will run to the mirage of safety in the distance;
But all for naught, as the tepid flames
Will lick our bodies dry of this apathy
And instill in us a passion new,
A passion to lie awake at night and breathe in the stars,
Absorbing each other into our flesh.
I will be the last one standing,
I will rule the wasteland you created in my heart.
And long after this longing is dead,
I will hold your name in revered silence,
Revealing it only when the story is told
On how a heart was brought back into beating
Or was it
How dreams were crushed...?