Wrought Emotions

Cold worked and strain hardened, angry, blind.
Smoke opened my eyes and heat cleared my mind.

Now finding my way and yearning to live.
I needed to share but still could not give.

Hot from the forge, my future glowed red.
I struck, but no anvil rang.
Instead,

you spoke to me in a voice like my own.
You touched me as if you had already known.

We both ached to give what most ache to receive.
What would the flames yield?
What could we achieve?