What are these things you feel?
These deep things
secret things
their worth unbeknownst to you.

I cannot grasp them;
The breadth and worth of them
the way you do.

I cannot feel true pain
nor relish in overflowing joy.
I am but a suit of armor,
polished and made to reflect
a light that does not belong to me.

Awake, awake, o sleeper!
Awake to the worth of the blessed curse
to laugh and cry
to dream and die
with the strum of a lyre and the stroke of the pen
and the thousand words from family and friends.

It is not merely a blessing, nor merely a curse
and believe me, it is far, far worse
to be disconnected from the majesty
of your bleeding heart.