An Odyssey

There's an odyssey in the boughs of love, that wims beside a broken heart, in some fortress made of shattered glass,

I find myself with cuts as raw
Than any love I've held before,

And time lays captive raging
like the tidal wave of one's own doubts,  

Yet beauty holds one's posture there

For that's the way the flower sprouts,

And so the sea may mingle well
With rosey petals and drops of rain

And blood may rush the landing 
Shores, as I withstand the angst 
In all the pain.