Romance is like a brilliant red rose,
The single lonely flower ready to pose,
To be swept off it's roots and to be given,
And to be the one kissed and be liven,
The one to be called beautiful and bright,
Your lover to hold you nice and tight,
To bury you deep in the dirt of the heart,
But to be plucked and thrown away like a dart,
To the trash to rot and to be left like a mark,
Sadness flowing but soon get over the dark,
At times you only have the perfect one,
But usually it turns you were picked a ton,
The lover holding a new red rose in hands,
Anger flairs but another in front lands,
To be reborn and healthy again in the end,
Never to be apart with the last friend,
It grows to be lovers 'till death do us part,
Romance and roses are forever in the heart.

Deep, very deep. Good poem keep it up.

I might have never fell in love, but I've seen how other's felt... But I thought this poem showed some truth...