The essence of heart

A sparkling Christmas tree is just a tree for real.
Decorations cast no magic, only conceal.
If a man sheds all his thorns, is he still a rose?
As he relinquishes control, will old wounds close?

Anger rebuffs attempts to amend for the past,
A powder keg of emotions ready to blast.
The surface of your heart has been scratched by deceit,
Now nagging doubt accompanies each lonesome beat.

Denied a glimpse of your face, or peek at your soul,
Leaves a personal emptiness, hard to console.
Roused phantoms of the past wear masks frozen in time,
While fragile vines of hope get cut before they climb

Unable to appease memories of past strain,
My heart is vanquished, then abandoned to its pain.
I'm the essence of hurt, drowning in bitter tears,
Meekly offering my love to comfort your fears.