Erika’s Picture Poetry #1

phj

Love,

A thing so illusive,

So fictive.

How does it feel to be handed a rose?

A sign of passion,

Of devotion.

How does it feel to be held?

Like you’re everything,

And he’d be left with nothing.

I confess that I am scared,

Of heartache before I’ve experienced love.

Scared Of being broken before I fall.

I confess that I am scared,

Of the end before the sun rises.