Could you give yourself away a thousand times,
Before they start to recognize
Devotion in its purest form,
A bouquet of roses, for a handful of thorns?
Could you gift to her a melody
That plays into eternity,
In hope for what may never be,
And surrender your pride so easily?
Some of us are afraid
To make that move.
Scared to make a play,
For fear they’ll lose.
But a quiet confession of desire
Is like pebbles scattered on the seafloor; Lost, and impossible to see or understand.
It has to be a scream. An explosion of passion and courage.
But devotion means nothing to those who don’t deserve it.