Michael Guerra Poet I do not know?

Come Again

You were a rose, 
A bleeding rose that projected the night, 
And stole my soul soundly. 
You made me feel nothing more than…
Minuscule, 
I was, 
For you were many miles high 
As I climbed your stem,

Thorns of throat piercing words 
And sorrowful lust stopped me 
Momentarily, 
For I bled, 
Only to start again. 
My blood was dark red beauty 
Only to be compared to your petals
Of Evanescing pain. 

I bled for you,
Great rose. 
As I climbed, 
I was drained of life,
Yet I went on for you,
My love,
My enemy,
My friend.

Your massive stem I was unable to climb.
Your beauty I was unable to reach, 
But I will come again.

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