Not every Thorn has a Rose
some only draw blood;
sometimes Love pricks the very Soul;
blood red rivers flow
leaving behind sometimes
only the Orphaned Rose.
The fault was yours as well as mine;
I, unwilling to relinquish to you
my false individuality
and you seeking from me
my Rose and its very soul.
 
I clung
to my isolated individuality
therefore suffering
the Roseless Thorn
 my false attempt to rescue my Rose's Soul;

smelling no sweet perfumes

gifts never granted or received
and you ignored Flowers Given
 willing, all too willing.
to contenence the thorn
in order to reap a soul;
we both misperceiving
that Commingled Being
is Love's True Flower.


And now we have Love's History
for good or ill;
where ever we go
or whomever else
we love
those we have loved
keep part of our Souls
joyous or sadden;
whether we acknowledge this
or profess to deny;
Love's True Mark
is not its blood
but its Soul
which can never die
even if sometimes
Love does.

We are then,
helplessly
all the people we have ever loved
and they us.