Bloom

Write me a poem

of love and hate,

of ugly things

that glow within

the hot coal grate

of empathy,

breathtaking beauty,

nurtured in a furnace

of self respect

and mutual regard,

nothing twisted

or circumspect,

cast, sincere intent,

forged true and pure

on an anvil of stone,

a rock of ages

to withstand the blows

of life’s misfortunes,

fate and foes,

aligned, combined

to blight the rose

that blooms with hope

‘fore winter froze

aspiration’s bulb

in comfort grows

earth cocooned,

to blossom, sown.