Dressing a storm with fire, this is a tale of woes.

Not for the story, for that brings wisdom and thought.

But for the fork in the road, the path erodes.

I show you the beginnings, do mind the rot.

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We begin with a gentle talk, an idle banter of sorts.

A laugh and a smile, an echo deep in the heart.

An unwinding of chains, a changing of courts.

What idle words made new, a growing start.

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A wonder, a surprise, a forgiven demise.

The chance given gladly, the words said madly.

They stared at the stars, a bursting of spars.

An angry verse given fire, a snapping of wire.

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Driven apart, a new seed takes root.

In poison soil, a sapling sprouts.

A bad idea, the plant decides.

And just like that, it withers, and dies.

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And then we hear the numbers chime,

The three echoed words, the whispers of primes.

Locked with a key of laughter, a chain of iron,

The heat beats on, but for now without rhyme.