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Randall Reyman Poem
Pump on, lest death may play its part,
with weight of sin or righteousness.
It is not ours, this beating heart.
Indeed, when schemes may fall apart,
though souls be gripped by frightfulness.
Pump on, lest death may play its part.
And though the wiles of a sweetheart,
her leave to cause much woefulness.
It is not ours, this beating heart.
Or when death nears, and angels dart,
seek not redress for life’s caress.
Pump on, lest death may play its part.
All things forever from the start,
are linked as one through timelessness.
It is not ours, this beating heart.
Life is but hues of nature’s art,
not bound to whims of false noblesse.
Pump on, lest death may play its part.
It is not ours, this beating heart.
Copyright © Randall Reyman | Year Posted 2022
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