Love,
the most imperfect creature
ever born.
We cling desperately to the beast's back,
fingers aching with our grasp.
We pray,
knowing that if we fall,
Love will joyfully devour us all.
YOU ARE READING
Speaking to Lost Souls
PoetryA collection of thoughts and emotion. Forgive me. I have a poet's soul, but not a poet's pen.
A Creature Named Love
Love,
the most imperfect creature
ever born.
We cling desperately to the beast's back,
fingers aching with our grasp.
We pray,
knowing that if we fall,
Love will joyfully devour us all.
