Love is a thorny branch thrown from the dust,
From mounds and memorials beneath, it was ******.
Some secret, undivulged, it snuck to discovery,
And wound around lungs as a vine  in its revelry.

Some angel with scissors, will she cut the pain of it away,
And throw heavenly breath into me on this day?
Either sword or shield, it morphs to its station,
Manifests and swiftly addresses education.

Lord, help me through, I am blind to its spectacle,
Stabbed vigorously through by love's pangs at the ventricle.
Lord, help me, I am left insecure,
Lift me to stand; please, restore the impure.