Saturday, February 10, 2018

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.

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