Pricked by a Rose..

is this real?
or am i dreaming?
when i think back, everything seems hazy.
lost in a cloud of confusion.
my heart struggles to keep itself beating
like the tiny drops that create the thunders of a waterfall
my mind asks questions creating thunders of confusion.
the heart..., so fragile, yet so critical.
without it, there is no life
yet with it, there is no rest.
love and hate
light and dark
all things that depend on their inimical adversaries as means for their survival..
there is no light without dark.
there is no love without hate...
truer words have seldom been spoken
the love that lies so close to my heart, rests in the company of hate!
of anger!
of lust!
of jealousy...
but most prevalent,
of sorrow.
 think back... its happened before..
its no different..

a rose by nature has thorns,
yet their bite never fails to surprise.
to pick up a rose is to be pricked by its thorns
 so...
to pick up a rose, or let it sit...
this matters not...
to hold on to it..., or let it drop..
this matters most...