The Evolution of a Broken Heart
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“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
Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018
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