tin cans in the dark

I whisper,
string vibrates,
you falter,
but smile at the Fates -
who frown -
because modern heroes are here,
but they cower,
and buckle,
       (might break)
before fire
consumes with a kiss
and forges steel,
tempered with valour,
but imbued with
agape
  caritas
    mettā.

You dance.