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The crimson rose may brightly glow,
but sorrow knows the thorn
that grows when love’s forlorn
or unadorned,
or worse, is mourned
or scorned.
Elusive ardor hope refines,
defining fervor’s zeal
sublime with wisdom’s seal,
intangible
until it’s full
and real.
And if, through dedicated pact,
with faith intact and fueled
with force (though ridiculed)
to scale the peak
all spirits seek
(though meek)
and claim devotion’s pinnacle,
the pilgrim (from that view)
can win love-treasure few
will have the grace
to gain–or place
to face.
Illumination laces truth
and soothes the love-worn soul
from youthful folly’s goal
achieved, then lost
with heartache’s cost:
love tossed.
Though peaks and roses are cliche,
they aptly pose bouquets
of love’s divine array
displayed: dismay–
or spirit’s way
to play.