~While this may not actually be a poem, I feel that it would fit in such a place~
How my mind wonders.......a waking dream?
He awakes from a startled dream...He bolted up, the pounding memory still alive. All passion was gone. He shuddered. Rushing to the window, He opens it and stares up into the light of the evening sun.
He asks the wayward moon, "Where is the passion? In the sunset or the sunrise? Or Neither? Is it in the budding rose that slowly opens, carefully fluttering her petals out spanning forth in a delightful fragrance while knowing that all adore her in such a state of budding life? And yet, jealously she clings to her own gifts with selfish thorns that really do pose a threat."
The moon sighs, how was she to answer such a question. "I know that even the prettiest of roses have their thorns. The passion then comes from the scent and beauty it beholds."
Silvery eyes close as the head bows. He looks up and screams to the moon, "Yet the thorns do not protect the rose. You and I can obliterate the life essence of the rose with a single snip of the cutters. What is the use of something so foreboding as the thorn on a rose? Where is the passion in that?"
The pale moon smiles. "This is true. But in life are you the real threat or just a perceived threat to the state of the rose? The passion remains all the more true. If anything, moreso because of the perceived danger of being hurt."
He nods his head then goes back to bed. The night fades into the mists of dreams....