the rose

the rose bleeds so that i dont cry when a thorn pokes through my skin picking and pulling and so begains the misserable and painful slow death,suffering and knowing that this is the end one by one the rose peddles shribble and curl up to crust that breaks into dust,,trust that the beauty and its sent,is given so that itself is a gift,everyday i do this for him so he knows i love him to bleed.why does he not believe things are clouding a black mist is surrounding this field of energy is straining to hold me im loosing the will to keep loving the ill but i love him to much to stop singing making love is still breath taking a connected line is  repaired  everytime just to get broken again so many times the birds wing is broken from flyng so fast when they are frighten i turn to a cat that just pounces and a giant attacks the weak as we hear screams its already to late