Silent Pining
My heart is closed again,
Croaking with but a beat to stay alive.
It is angry, cramped.
It is remorseful,
Now scared of the possibilities,
Of false ties and
Infarct seeping once reflected.
It is drunken,
Longing to say soaking,
To inflate and explode in waves,
Clawing at it’s enclosure.
It is confused,
What are these ties?
The string woven over each other,
Wrapping and complex and unintelligible.
Elder fingers could not have the insight
Into a tale as known as this one.
My heart wants to know who you are,
But it aches still,
As my brain absorbs our string,
And it spits out Morning Glory.
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