Changing Form


If my heart had legs and feet
It would have run away.
Projecting from my chest on beat-
A simple, deft display.

My heart could grow a pair of wingsTo disappear from sight.
Seeking an alien beauty in things,
Evoking sheer delight.

Were my heart to grow a pair of hands,
Their task to heal the earth.
The torn, the ravaged, and the damned-
All misunderstood - would find rebirth.

In truth, my heart is many things:
A drum that beats, a bird that sings.


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