The Heart

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