If you asked me what Love was
My reply would be:
Love is the wild rose bush growing where you cannot see.
Love is the rich green vines that intertwine within itself.
It's still Love, even in the thorns.
Thorns grow when someone gives up on Love
Or when they search for it in the wrong place.
And when roses bloom;
that's Love revealing itself to our consciousness .
You say you can't find Love, that it doesn't exist.
My reply would be:
Wait for your rose to bloom.
Roses wilt away,
I believe that's when someone denies or hides their love
even from themselves,
when they give up.
Wilting petals are the tears that have fallen from a fallen face.
And even if the rose wilts away, the vines are still there.
Even if you destroy the bush,
wait a while,
and witness the resurrection within time.
When those grow and roses wilt
the vines keep growing, intertwining and running.
Chase it, follow it, no matter where it leads.
Follow it down, though the thorns prick and scar,
and it will bloom.
Give up and stop, and all you have is thorns.
Memories and scars.
You ask me about when we believe in Love.
My reply would be:
Our faith and hope is the clean and pure water
that feeds the vines and makes it grow.
The liquid life that courses through the very veins of Love.
Love is here, everywhere.
We feed it and subconsciously watch it grow.
The vines are the veins in our bodies,
and the roses are the flush in our cheeks,
blooming when revealed.
You ask me what Love is
My reply would be:
Love is simply Love.
I can't describe it in any other way than a metaphor.
All I can do is paint you a picture
with the love in my veins as ink
on these pages of our lives.
All I can do is show you through written words
that cuddle together in a poem
and hope you understand.