Lay me down, in a bed of roses.
Will I feel the thorns or the petals?
Spending life searching for something you like to call beauty.
Living in fear of the ugliness.
I could pretend that the rose has no thorns,
I could imagine Beauty,
We can fill a room with light but there will forever be a shadow,
If love could speak what would it say?
If love could travel the distance, how far could it go?
Would Love be a poet?
Would love be riding on the crest of a wave in the moonlight
Or the belly of a beast in battle?
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