iambic inspiration

Oh vessel, perfect proof of gods divine
Thy vasty hollow yet cannot confine
The admiration, love, yae, high esteem
That we would pack thee with like sunny beams
For then with heat thou mightst erupt to flame
O’er-warmed with honeyed utt’rance of thy name
And foolish mortals, we, who meant to praise
Our precious structure to the ground would raise
No, no, we must pretend to not perceive
And from our inclinations we must cleave
And masquerade at mere utility
For ‘twould be simple gross futility
To fan our fawning accolades to fire
And with infernal love create thy pyre