Partly
If I bare but my soul to you
I know that you would listen.
Rolling plains of yester dew
Are a breeze to take in.
If I unravel but my mind to you
A warm bed you could sleep in.
Blankets weaved from common truths
Shroud dreams unworthy of reliving.
My own is a bittersweet sight
Of roses and of thorns.
It treads on the edge of day and night
Between the ecstatic and forlorn.
Jagged rocks and plunging waters might
Wholly swallow you, I warn!
So the gates of this kingdom I close tight
And I'll keep you at the length of an arm.
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