The Heart.

The cracked chalice that is the human heart will not hold on,

Locked in a mortal cage, suffering a constant beating,

Its promise of love is now cured and has become brittle,

The dark days filled with longing resemble the sharpness of a knife,

That cuts the mooring ropes; setting adrift the angel of singing.

Now music is a drum beat and a whistle from a well.

 

There was a light, but its glow and music, have all but gone,

The azure blue and the darkened skies are now competing,

Rising joy may have comforted the hopeful a little,

But arrows of Cupid have fallen too short for this life,

And the virtuous bells of hope cannot be heard ringing,

What is left is an eerie silence, at the gates of hell.

 

The heart’s soft sweet music is like noise if it is not shared,

Even a noble lighthouse cannot shine upon itself,

The wondrous strumming of the strings will go undeclared,

For it is now trapped by eternal loneliness and ill health,

When alone, even the warm taste of divine food goes cold,

There is no song or glow without the other hand to hold.

 

Call my heart a winter house, that guards against the tempest,

And call on Aphrodite to put this wanting to rest.