Promises of love, wrapped in blossoms attached to thorny stems.
With a timid grasp I am pricked, bleeding, the pain outweighing pleasure, while you remain silent in my grief.
For a hundred years I would devote myself to you, giving you all I am. Tears take the usual course, the heart is confused,
Hungers as an empty belly. Where do I place my devotion? For you have required it,
Promised its return and sealed it with hope. Counterfeit dreams rob the night of stars to
Wish upon, and still I hold to you.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/the-malory-man/4111416775/”>themaloryman</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>