Shadows Bring Wildflowers

Claims are made that    
hope is what will keep you from becoming ravenous for love seeking withered hope      
It's Paramount to the      
Fight inside made to battle the cycle      
     
It's a razor edge circle    
beginning to spin smoothly but...    
one wrong look      
one wrong word      
One wrong action and      
blood will flow as a river      
Sorrow swelling it to overflow      
Deeply the wound resides      
Inside the depths of Who You Are      
     
The Shadows have arrived      
Surrounding you as they sit with a    
Hopelessness that flows like smoke    
Seeping into your skin    
Masked by a luschious fable of love    
     
It feels like a last supper with a    
Disquitude that overwhelms, as the    
Crumbs of love and scraps of hope    
Are ravengiously inhaled;    
but it's never enough to fill the hollowness inside,      
because hope just isn't always enough; and love is a double edged sword      
if your not careful with cautious adorations    
 OR maybe I'm just gluttonous and require a straightjacket    
     
Unfourtantly the Crumbs are poisoned, and the scraps are rotting and rancid, and the straightjacket is crushingly tight.    
Tiny bits at a time it decomposes    
Leaving the fallout inside my eyes.    
     
Sincerely believing death to be      
Rattling the door to your cage      
Sending the warrior to protect what's left, but its flawed in its fight, because its    
Addicted to some semblance of love and      
Ravenous for hope    
     
It risks anything and everything just to possess one more crumb of love, and even smaller scraps of hope.      
   
Its elusiveness becoming a shadow of a hostile lullaby you desired to learn; as perhaps it might pay for the      
hope and love you desperately seek.      
     
Entering the eye of the storm      
Knowing that its calmness is a lie, and    
soon it will violently rage against the    
fractured fragile heart and threatening the soul.    
     
Destruction leaving it immensly unstable    
I fear that it might crumble to dust, and be    
stolen by the tempest      
that comes and goes with its      
Tenacity to bring you to your knees.      
   
It threatens to steal away all that    
protects what is left, only to depart      
Leaving wildflower seeds in the      
Cracks of who you are    
 Providing a need for someone strong enough to catch and carry the water from my storms as it trickles from my voice, and drips from my eyes,---      
   
pain made physical; so I can    
Water the wildflowers the      
shadows bring.