Love is a rose, slowly burning

Love is a rose, slowly burning.
Growing from the ashes of many-broken hearts,
Its petals consumed and sustained
By the sun-bright flames of sacrifice,
The soaring heat of passion,
Its radiance of feelings unassailable and impenetrable
By the mercenary armies of our words.
It springs from the soft fabric
Of life resplendent, life untouched,
Yet forged and battered into ringing splendor
Upon the anvil of the heart, by Hope.
It is the native forest of untamed souls,
Rising up to defy the merchants of oblivion;
Souls who cry, “I will not buy your shining wares
Or fall before your poorly crafted trinkets.
Give me pain over nothing,
Give me blindness and a candle over your darkness,
Give me heartache and tears over your half-priced numbness.”
Open the gates of that small stem
And find the strength of a thousand hearts
Willing to fight what they were and are,
That they might spend one orphaned breath on the doorstep of what they could be.