The Mistaken Spikes

You say that you'll hold to this rose with me,
and you know that the spikes are so sharp and free,
and, of course, you are scared to behold with me,
for the pain is too much for your eyes to see,

realize that i too
have seen red drops upon blue,
spread the stains of tears for you,
proved the spited flames untrue,
and sustained for there is you.

So, I must tell you
That there will be no taking
of the spikes from their stem
for, my dear, you are mistaking.

The time has come
for the choice of path,
Every bad choice made
has a consequential wrath.

So, my love, take the rose
And see past this cunning pain
Just look deep into my eyes
And forever, there, you'll rein.

Grab it tight, don't let go
For euphoria is slow,
But it comes and goes in waves,
Leading only through our caves,
Out into the light that sheds our skin and makes a brighter morning
And up into the sky where sparrows flail in vein of poets soaring
Stepping only further through the membrane of the rose
That joins our fingers close together, allied, I suppose
The love is ours to form a prose, and doubt we shall impede
And when the petals fall, oh, we must breed another seed.