mit herz allein, und verstand verlassen.

of those who once lived by heart alone,
to be told to now live
by mind alone -
              if there be no greater sorrow,
this sorrow comes first.

are we to say that the mind is superior
to the heart?
  that what the heart wrote,
while the mind has only begun writing
is to give us the grand usurp?

how the mind has made the heart
so fickle, so tantamount in
                       seeking non-existing
shores or abides by laws of
   "******" nonetheless healthy mentalities
of unsaid genesis.

we have a spawn of history in our reach,
within a day we can catalogue
a century of years,
  with the crucifix 2000 years,
within a single day
we can be "reminded"
   of the ultimate genesis,
the foundation, the cowering stone
of homage...
          and yet, next tuesday,
we'll be sipping coffee in a cafe
bewildered by our infantile
and if not infantile, when insect-like
worries
         of re-arranging furniture
to suit our *feng shui...
                          if only for the love
of music would our souls dare to breathe
their last composition of a sigh...
by my word,
   i'd leverage the remains of the hyper-psyche
of a woman's worth into the depths
of tartarus...
  so that the titans might grapple with it,
while hades, remaining hidden,
entertains nothing but song...
       and praises no god,
other than the golden ratio of harmonies!
so much distance between
   a da               &      the    sein...
       why not congratulate myself to succumb
to the inverse potency of the original,
and simply state:                jetztsein...
now, i am...
                                   jetzt, ich bin:
a colander through which imagination
is seived, but keeps memory intact...
that forevermore hidden cinema
                     that breathes a gust of
historical subjectivity into
              an ever-objective present,
toward no objectified past,
toward no objective that resounds
                       within the word: future.

oh how we once lived by heart alone,
   to have this char-smog-tar worth of
a heart evenly beating a rhythm
but no rhyme...
               how poetry devolved into
prose, and how prose aspires to poetry...
how we once lived by heart alone,
and mastered all those forthcoming pains...
to now live by mind alone...
    where the only place for a heart
to still be guiding, is to guide us toward
the most irritable path,
  the only path it now would seem
is welcoming our treading feet...
    and to think, we lived, some time ago,
by heart alone;
             i keep finding the need to live
my mind alone
   a harsh dictum -
               the brain inside a pickle jar...
         what heart remains,
has receeded to the confines of sporting
events...
         a collectivism...
                    a football chant...
            what sad events are to come
and prosper from such changes!
                        
to think, we once lived by heart alone,
with whatever agony, with whatever
gnaw of bone & limbs, and lived!

                       where there was once a heart,
there was beauty,
                 but where now there is nought
but mind, what rigidity,
                what little comfort
other than in the ease of menial toils,
what little comfort in a sleepless night...
what of life, if life be purely the domain
of the mind... and the agonising death of
both heart, and soul.