Red Hearts
"Red Hearts"
In black and white,
openings
and dead ends abound;
Words read.
Hearts read.
What matter the colours
of skin and minds now?
The best of us
sat in hell.
Take consolation in that -
He made His way out,
for us, for Himself.
A Poet-Prophet - no doubt,
lessons in complexity,
embedded deep,
forgotten by most of such belief.
Isolated and removed, we try hard,
we try our best to follow
like hungry sheep.
You’re in good company now.
Aren’t you?
You’re in good company now?
The best of us
has sat in hell,
He,
made His way out.
We look inward daily
at our self-imposed rituals,
each word hung on a line -
dissolving into a wall, we're just residuals.
Our reflections mirrored in the all-seeing power,
the paler shadows cast outward
from our removed selves, where –
Love casts its spells.
Love will always cast its spells.
Blind eyes turn away,
laughing it all out loud
like simple jokes needing to be expelled.
Blind eyes turn away.
What is past is forgotten here,
in the mostly untarnished always.
Hearts hearing truth
will tell it as it is –
always.
Without hesitation, without doubt,
they cast their spells out loud.
Their words speak truth, bleeding,
swimming like salmon upstream,
just as they are –
alone, unclouded, would-be poets
with muddled hearts up in the clouds,
watching for their Shining North Star
amongst all the falling stars.
We look inward, some of us,
for the meaning of who we truly are.
It seems so close, yet removed, so far;
We make our way out,
in the end, somehow.
Words read.
Hearts read.
Love
has the strongest power,
somehow.
Love
is what is needed most.
When delivered without proof –
unconditional,
Love will always save us.
This could hurt…
pierced hearts are read here,
bleeding strong power.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
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