HEARTBEAT.

HEARTBEAT

The littlest heartbeat is usually the

Best one.

It is stuck between my finger and my

Thumb.

No broken bones, no shattered cartilage,

Everything is masked for us to give.

Seeds of destruction are no longer filled,

Time is a worry that cannot be broken.

I am here.  I am not.  Where are you?

I have been sheltered, like a princess,

On her way to the ball.  She will fall in love

With a prince and I will be left alone.

That is how love goes, on and on forever,

Like a blessed doll.  All things are transparent.

Reading is the fundamental of science.

The backbone of commerce is more than

Riddled with the guilt of deniability. 

Forced by half-drenched realizations, there

Is a steady thrum of reluctance, which is cast

Aside as reverence.  Everything we have we

Have worked for.  Everything we know is turned

Into a brand of knowledge that is not in our

Foreseeable future.  Some people have no future.

Others do.  But it is all taken in stride, just like

A landslide that has overtaken the realm of

All doubt.  I have not been given a way out,

But, still, I am looking for one.  How is that

Forgiven?  How is that a meaning of forget-fullness?

What is the dream of realization that eludes us?

And then, in the damn of hatred, we wait to

Be reconciled, even still.