Fulcrum of a rose
My Heart ~
the pump station of my love,
my affection.
Like petals of a rose—
the fulcrum of my fragrance...
attracting kindred souls to my life,
like bees and butterflies to a bloom.
Rip my heart open—
you won’t find anything else
but goodness and kindness ~
the fabric that clothes my being.
When broken—
the pain is sharp and immense,
like a twisting knife
ripping a soul bare ~
bloodless,
yet endless,
like a drumbeat
without a drummer.
But it can harden—
stony, cold,
devoid of warmth or grace,
vengeful and wicked...
when pierced by a heartless mind.
Then it flows with invisible venom ~
clouding the brain like a purple haze,
killing, maiming...
capable of every evil.
Like roses—
with a range of wildly different scents ~
so is my life: love, hatred, joy—
kindness and wickedness all imbued.
Oftentimes, it sweetly lingers...
other times, it odiously putrefies.
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