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.