The Gardener and The Rose

Fear is a cruel ruler
that we've opened our doors to willingly
while childishly crying in our bedrooms
when our houses have gone dark,
ironic?

Put in perspective
that the sun shines every morning
even when the earth has not asked-

As is my role with you.

Open your door to my truths,
allow my soul to be that sunlight
coaxing forth the blossom of your
petrified petals,

Grant my calloused hands the wish to
venture your thorns, to feel the rapturous prick
of passion that's been absent
for a thousand lifetimes,

And our trust to be
the overgrowth of vines that doesn't smother,
but protects our garden,
born again each morning.

I have stormed your front door
and trudged through darkness
although strickened with fear
to reach your bedroom door,
ironic?

No, such is love.