Poetry of Love



*Poetry* of *Love*
		Love is Like a Rose *New* *love is the* *bud* It is nurtured and cared *for* *Spoken* *to and watered* *regularly* *Tender* *loving care, nothing* *less* It deserves all the attention it can *get* We want it to blossom into something *lovely* *Then* *the bud begins to* *blossom* *The* *blossom awakens with sunlight’s* *caress* *The* *petals soft and warm like an* *embrace* To touch the skin as light as a gentle *kiss* *Bright* *and beautiful as shared* *smiles* *Such* *tenderness has brought forth this* *loveliness* *The* *stem holds the blossom* *strong* *Giving* *it nourishment through* *time* *The* *thorn on the stem protects the blossom* *too* *Keeping* *away all bad things that come this* *way* *But* *as time passes it can come to* *happen* *The* *stem weakens and breaks under* *pressure* *Like* *love does when the unexpected* *comes* *The* *thorn tries to protect* *still* *From* *whatever is trying to weaken the* *stem* *Pricking* *the predator, making him* *hurt* *Like* *we happen to do to each other when* *pricked* *Stabbing* *at open wounds, relentless in our* *task* *Hurt* *and anger filling where love* *resided.* *Then* *it is needed to be* *decided* *Should* *we try to revive the* *blossom?* Is the love worth all the hard *work?* *Was* *the happiness that was lost more or* *less* *Now* *that the anger and hurt are* *here?* *Only* *one that can decide these answer is* *you.* Is love worth the *effort?* *Hard* *work?* *Time?* *Energy?* *Anguish?* *Only* *personal happiness can* *decide.* ~ *Briannae*

	*The Maiden's Song* As Scribed by Aleyara The maiden sang in the tower As rain fell on the land, Sang flowers into her bower And starlight on the sand. She sang of heart's desire As twilight 'gan to fall, Sang of the soul's deep fire As kestrels 'gan to call. Her song rang in the twilight From the tower to the town, Rang clearly until midnight As raindrops covered the ground. She sang of her love who had gone away As night grew further dark, She sang of her longing till the day Was wakened by the lark. When the morning bells did sound Her song was heard no more. Of maid herself no sign was found But her cloak cast on the shore. And whether she left to find her heart Or was taken by the seas, None knew if the gods did hear her part Or were deaf to her keening pleas. And to this day, in the falling rain Her song can be heard so clear, Her fate a mystery will remain And the love that she held so dear.