What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Find itself in love, and by any other name would feel as deep. Yet here we lie delicate like petals in the dewy spring, thorned in defense against a winter wind. In bloom I reach, while your petals tuck from further breach. We are not the same. This I know. For several months ago, I said the three words. It's true, I do, I love you so. Never reciprocated, had left me felt alone. To fight off the winds that nature brings, to fend off the beasts lurking beneath, and to hope one day you feel the same. Love exhausts passion, pain, beauty, fear. Most of all it tugs at the insecurity, the faults, and tests the trust. If we fail we crumble to dust and if we pass fruitful and robust. I hope I plea you open to me, those petals of yours and let me see the vulnerability I beseech. For none of us are strong without our past and none of us can love without opening up.
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Poems
PoetryPoems I have written, and that were written during times of reflection and thought,
