my heart, my heart, my heart --
how do you speak with no vocal chords?
how do you ache with so few nerve endings?
how do you move suns and moons with such small mass?*

the enchanted axe removed each limb,
one by one, bringing nick chopper down to size,
and gave him a body full of tin.
however, in attempting to heal his wounds,

the tinsmith failed to replace his heart,
and the tin woodsman was no longer
able to love the one to whom he had given his heart.
and he continued to live this way for years.

===

how i envy the heartless,
how i envy the ones who feel pain, but not
the pain of the heart, the pain of the soul.
there are times i want to rip my own heart out.

the gravity of such a decision
was hardly noticed, the way gravity
is hardly noticed -- a force we do not fight.
so, of course, i said it -- "i love you."

and in that moment the earth moved
beneath my feet.  i felt the tilt of its axis;
i felt the weight of the world; i felt it all.
and of course, my frame was far too slight.

i felt a piercing pain, i could not move,
and i feared the worst.  there are very few
maladies that cause paralysis and sharp pains
all over the mind and body.  but

this was nothing new, this was nothing
i hadn't felt before.  to have a heart,
to feel a heart, to know a heart,
is to feel unimaginable pain.

my own words have become my enchanted axe;
my own heart has removed each limb
and replaced them with tin.  and yet my heart remains.
is that a better fate than having no heart at all?

they tore down the paintings;
they tore down the walls themselves.
and all to deconstruct a world
they would later attempt to reconstruct.
but reconstruction through deconstruction
is never an easy task;
never something looked upon in a noble light.
for the kings,
with their regal gowns,
would hang
these men shattering the windows
so that people could truly
see the world.

they stepped to right of their left hemispheres;
they stepped out of their bodies completely.
and demanded that each of us
do the same in whatever way we could.
but we couldn't, and we wouldn't,
because the life of comfort
is always something gained by keeping the poor in the dark.
for the poor,
with their simple hearts, would cry
out to these men tearing down art,
and shield their eyes
from the sun.

they shouted to the kings -- "ignorance!"
they shouted to the poor -- "blindness!"
and all to reach the gods,
who smiled down on all of mankind.
but mankind, never could seem to smile
when trying to reach the gods,
who lived in a world of infinite time, space, and color.
for the gods,
with skin the color of water, would watch
all of these men leaving no stone unturned,
when all they had to do was look
to the stars.

we could spend time
counting stars
as if there was nothing
left to do in the world.
we could spend time
as if time was money
and we were richer
than any king and queen.

we could spend time
together.