Partly

If I bare but my soul to you I know that you would listen. Rolling plains of yester dew Are a breeze to take in.

If I unravel but my mind to you A warm bed you could sleep in. Blankets weaved from common truths Shroud dreams unworthy of reliving.

My own is a bittersweet sight Of roses and of thorns. It treads on the edge of day and night Between the ecstatic and forlorn.

Jagged rocks and plunging waters might Wholly swallow you, I warn! So the gates of this kingdom I close tight And I'll keep you at the length of an arm.