Philophobia [sonnet]
Fear of falling in love is now the weft
and woof of life within this broken world.
Responsible for frozenness and theft
of hearts, on which its bitter gall is hurled.
Masquerading much as ‘independence’;
pretending not to need a Jack or Jill.
Claiming to achieve some cool transcendence
the wonder of their lives they won’t fulfil.
But why should love (true love) engender fear?
Is real love not of peace and beauty made?
Does love (true love) not make pain disappear?
Why then should love make lovers feel afraid?
Thus, fear and love cannot exist as one
for love (true love) is always all or none.
© Alan Morrison, 2015
The Naked Troubadour 