Rose

My rose you are,

Filling my life with bright reds and oranges,

Dotting the night with stars,

And swirling amidst the fallen petals in my head.

My rose you are,

Guiding my brushstrokes in sweet lines,

Painting with my heart,

And finding my voice in bright sunlight.

If you were, not to wilt, but to drift away,

By choice or by fate,

So would be gone the light of day,

And so gone would be all from my soul but hate.

In would pour dark blues and black,

And life would turn as death,

Nothing left but love’s lack,

Nothing but nothing left.

But my rose you are,

And I would rather bleed by your thorns,

And feel loss’s scars,

Than from my rose by myself be torn.

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