One flows soft like a river’s grace,
The other blazes, a frantic chase.
One knows the soul behind the name,
The other kneels before mere fame.

Love is quiet, deep, and kind,
A meeting place of heart and mind.
It asks for nothing, gives its all,
And stands unshaken through the fall.

Fanatic hearts may roar and rise,
Blind to truth, and fed with lies.
They worship idols never known,
With borrowed faith not truly grown.

Love surrenders, not from fear,
But from a joy when truth is near.
Fanaticism binds with rage and pride,
A fragile mask it wears to hide.

So if you burn, then ask your flame:
Is it a light — or just a name?
For love endures, while crowds disperse —
One heals the world, one may curse.