He comes to me from out of the blackness he's always surrounded by a light. His warmth exudes beyond his reach every space darkened by the night, he takes me from the confines of this thing I call my mind., to walk with him along a pathway never straying for the path, not straight, does wind. We come upon a fragile rose its petals closed up tight, his warmth exudes beyond his reach every space darkened by the night. A wonderful thing begins to happen the petals open wide as if to drink his presence the sweet nectar that flows from deep inside. I asked him how this thing can be surely it was withered dying in its misery. He said your lacking in faith believing in only what one can see, unlike the rose that drank of what it knew must be there to sustain its softness and everlasting life all in all it fed its beauty. I said what then of a rose that did not bloom then did it die in vain? I watched it grow from a seedling just a small bud upon a vine it never opened its petals, he said it wasn't yet its time.