Love’s scrolls
In veiled gardens where dew-kissed petals first unfold,
Love’s silent scrolls belong to emerald blades untrod,
To blossoms sealed in morning’s virgin gold,
Not fields once wandered by the reckless, wayward god.
The opened rose, its nectar spilled and claimed,
Merits no fragrant quill, no heart’s shy plea;
Its secrets shared, its mystery untamed
Let faded stems stand silent, set them free.
Yet stranger still, when iron warriors bend the knee,
Conquered before the fray, their banners furled;
No lion yields his throne to whispered decree,
No true flame bows where softer shadows rule the world.
This borrowed veil from silver screens and painted lies,
Has chained the oak to ivy’s creeping hold;
Now western winds bear songs of veiled disguise,
Where once proud eagles knelt to doves of gold.
The ancient forge grows cold in yielding sighs,
Steel softened into pleas beneath moonlit skies.
What shadowed bloom when blades forget their bite
Scrolls to the gathered rose, surrender in the night.
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