My intention was to share affection
And not to afflict hearts
My desire, was to dish out love
And not to stir up lust
Shame, it often doesn’t work out.
Although I shed tears of love,
It’s often mistaken for fake.
Then, my delicate and dedicated,
Heart of Roses end up being jilted.
With anger, anguish and disgrace,
All ranted at me,
My intention became tension,
My flower withered with the heat
My blossom – brightness – faded.
But my seed, my sacred heart of love,
Remained alive to alight with lore again.
Reminding me of my forte,
But to accept my fault
By nature, my seed will sprout
Even with storms and thorns
With light it shall shoot, spring
And then bear bare bud.
As one never knows,
Someone would be there.
There, again to pluck my Roses.