My Heart

My heart is like a swollen stream, a current strong and swift, beside which banks the mountain giants their rugged forms uplift. My heart is like a wilderness, a darkening wood, a desert sand, a tempest on a heaving sea, a blizzard in a frozen land. My heart is like the deep of night, the pearling of a dawn in May, a quiet pool, the winsome strain a song bird sings at break of day. My heart is like volcano fire, seething terror at the core, an open mouth, a vast desire forever hungry, craving more. My heart is like a gentle rain, the greening of a field in spring, a sighing breeze through tender leaves, a butterfly on glistening wing. My heart is like a somber dirge in sorrow's lonely, minor key, a gripping ache, a widening void, a vacillating mystery. How shall I ever meet myself, elusive stranger, face to face, when I must search a universe where each thought holds a hiding place? © 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson