[stained glass heart]
a heart is a delicate toy, [beating it’s own frail song]
encased inside a cage of bones, strong
yet equally complex in its meaning.
yet, unlike bone, a heart can be shattered
in many ways. instead of by a hammer or
sword, we save our hearts from caring too
loud, from falling and giving it up only to
find the fragile glass of our living engine
can be shattered with just a few choice words.
[words that slam into them;
i hate you! i thought we were friends.
how can you lie to me.] words stab at the
fragile glass and shatter it piece by piece
even when we let them rebuild themselves a
small piece will always be gone, a slash
over the eyes of a piece of art,
a vague memory of what made it once soar
singed there forevermore.
a heart is nothing more than a
bearer of weights [anger and sadness
love and hate; fear and courage] a heart is a shoebox
buried in the ground of our soul longing to be touched,
for love’s tender embraced