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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required “The Evolution of a Broken Heart” In thy hands, I gently placed it lacking hesitation’s pleas and virtues ‘twas ne’er a time to be uncourageous plucked somewhere from deep within my honorable, clean gilded home where pure intention sat regally spartan upon her stony throne In thy hands, I gently placed it Like some glistening pulmonary metronome pushing for LIFE defibrillating bleeding heart beating like a drowning tin drum detonating in time with yours swallowed up by your Tsunami Oceans of sick suffocating bad love, captive of your rattling cages of madness, twisted hidden lies, monsters defecating over innocence, vile and bitter rages Black Dog Barking feral, never ending sadness, the war rages and it rages In thy hands, it stopped in strangled default stages ‘twas the small heart next to mine I saved first pushed to safety through the light wielding cracks and freedom spaces swam away like a tadpole up for air and refined graces Our story now a flock of dark murderous ravens fleeing across the black book's pages she forgot the Golden Chord in her mouth and dropped it - you betrayed us In thy hands, I gently placed it In thy hands, you squeezed its life blood as if wringing the neck of a worn laundry rag sucked out the remnant of a soul in staggered stages, its torn mind, ripped dry and cold it snapped like a brittle twig like a yolkless egg cracked open stopped dead and useless the pieces lost and broken floated away dissolving invisible a transitory homeless ghost now walking Purgatory’s halls miserable and defeated In the mirror what reflection is there left? A Ghost holding a hidden key, a Golden Chord and ever shining Crucifix, will wait and never rest (Lovejoy-Burton/Mar 2018) "Get out of My House" / Kate Bush https://youtu.be/_uHUUwgGW5c “It is more than likely I will never leave your side, I will remain a Ghost to haunt your conscience forever” (Anonymous) “Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.” (Huraki Murakami, "Kafka on the Shore") Definintion of SPARTAN: A native or inhabitant of ancient Sparta A person of great courage and self-discipline
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