Never Weary In Spirit
Love is young like a delicate rose- petal
So easily flung, devoured by transient blooms
Reckless the endings with salty lips of passion
Only to find it is all about moonlit conquests.
Love is a mirror of anger, perhaps a cry
An obsession to hold when one feels alone;
This clutch grasping unto shadowed vines of fear
Possessing the other for ruthless exploitation.
Frank H: Love Is
by nette onclaud
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2013
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