Tattle Tale Heart
Beating in a cadence few can hear
for they listen not closely.
Pounding in perpetuity through creation.
Pumping relentlessly,
slowing with sorrows ache;
racing with the light of sunset
or the nearness of a lovers lips.
Aging brings a stutter,
causing fluttering eyes and fragile skinned hands
to hold onto life or love……
Danger, my pounding presence ignites
cascading fear to lunacy and awe to wonder.
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