The Heart
Listen to poem:
With its every pulse, throb and beat -
This is one beast of a machine
It's the soul's companion;
the core of our feelings
It can be as hard as stone,
or weak enough to be broken
It can be soft, warm.
Big. Kind. Heavy. Light
It rends, burns and bleeds
Yearns, faints and aches
It can give a home to land
and be a place to search for answers
It can beat with another
Melt. Grow fond and tender
We can learn by it. Wear it on our sleeves
Take to it. Open it. Keep it true and simple
We can speak from the bottom of it
Put it in our hands. Or find it in our mouths
We can look into it. Set our hopes on it
We can let it get hollow, or fill it with our content
It can be thrilled, stirred or stricken
Made of iron, flint, marble or oak
It can be set on fire. Sink in dread
Be cold or strong. Won or lost.
We can allow its strings to be played
And let it go out to others
It can expand, overflow, burst.
Swell with pride and leap with joy
With its every pulse, throb and beat -
This is one beast of a machine
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