Mother’s heart
A feather yet it holds
Tones of love.

Ego when bruised
Walks with a limp
Its eyes watery
Shamefaced, gait wobbly
It can easily be knocked of
It’s feet, as its legs suddenly
Appear spindly, malnourished
I guess starved of necessary fiber
And nutrition. I wonder if it’s got a spine
No wonder all it does is whine
When splashed with hot water.

Puzzles are frazzling
Oblique and opaquely designed to
Effuse effectively in earnest someone’s
Mental juices, in most cases to futile ends.

My heart’s stuffed with hot pieces
Of coal, it beats feebly the stitches
Keeping it together being worn
Frightfully thin, scared it’ll be torn.
It does still beat though in fierce
Defiance, seldom makes a fuss
Or a feat to capture my waning
Attention, guess it’s befitting
Only and solely to me, a component
Centrally vital to survival to be kept in mint
Condition, so why my dearest heart
Though art an assemblage of ****
Lime like angst, frustration and raw anxiety?
I implore thee to practise some emotional sobriety.

If mellifluous be her
Voice I wonder what
Her two hands be made out of.

It rained cats and dogs yesternight
The moon curled up in fetal position in fright
Covered by think blankets of darkness her sight,
Lulled to sleep she rested contemplating her plight.

When one’s in love’s embrace
One’s not keen to save face