Each word is a map to a shared memory
Sometimes my directions are incorrect
Or may take you on a scenic route
Such that you forget the destination until you reach it
I guide by landmarks
The names of roads are all forgotten by me
Only their twists and turns remain in my mind

Pinprick from a thorn
I press until my finger
produces rubies

When I beckon you
Come worship at my temple
Make love to my soul
I am seeking to fulfill
Our purpose in this lifetime

Fed by summer heat
The foolish spring garden grew
far beyond its plot
So frightening its bounty
the harvest rots on the vine

A wild rose is a lasting thing
Growing amongst the ruins
Full of life despite neglect
And you know the place one blooms

A wild rose is a pretty thing
To decorate your room
All pink and leafy splendor
To cheer away the gloom

A wild rose is a thorny thing
Its vines tear you apart
You can’t grasp it directly
Work gently towards the heart

Push aside its catching strands
Leave the petals strewn
Take the freshest flowers
For more will blossom soon

A wild rose is a stubborn thing
You may plant it if you dare
Take a cutting from its base
But make your choice with care

For a wild rose is a feral thing
You can’t charm it to your will
Forever spreading beauty
Is its nature to fulfill

Pride designed a precious bower
Granting each discarded scrap
The illusion of creative power

Whatever’s found he will devour
And shape to his mind’s map
Pride designed a precious bower

Now his lover he will shower
With refuse in a shiny wrap:
The illusion of creative power

Is she wooed by his false flower?
Will glamour be her trap?
Pride designed a precious bower

Or will her feelings remain dour?
Knowing he can only tap
The illusion of creative power

Leaving him to hunt and scour
The world for his stopgap
Pride designed a precious bower
The illusion of creative power