A series of peaks and valleys.
Old scars from unnecessary accidents, and a subtle joy that some evidence remains.
The sensation that defines reality, able to feel life’s weight, and warmth, and warnings.
Upon this bark lies the stories of the past.
Etched words to remember, and a subtle pain that the moment is over.
Fleeting memories that will be forever marked in each chip, and crack, and curve.
There is beauty in a sharp edge,
A force of subtle danger that is also poised and controlled.
In the needle there is protection,
For the wilds of the world are fearsome.
So take pride in your needles that keep the sharp teeth at bay,
Always there is life worth protecting, draw forth now your sharpened swords.
A rose given is a heart received.
Presented with a blossom of purest devotion, and smelling of the sweet aroma of romance.
Yet always still a flower of the earth. Made of delicate petals that will droop, and wrinkle, and fall away.
Knowing the fragility of its own beauty, it covers itself with thorns and tells all to stay away.
Yet a rose appreciated yields a moment of love.
And in that moment a flower blossoms into an emotion while its roots dig ever deeper into our hearts.
Would you love me still, if all my leaves have fallen away?
If my green splendor was removed and you saw me only with bare bones.
What would you say to me then?
I shiver in the fear of your voice, telling me an answer I hope never to hear.
That my barriers have been stripped away and what is left of me is only sticks.
And in a snap you could end me.
But your answer is soft. It touches me like the sun on the bare limbs of a tree in winter.
It warms and it encourages.
“You are the spring.” You whisper, and in response my heart blossoms.