There is no set price to
its worth.
It is not polished jade,
poached ivory
nor a vase dated
by a dynasty.

It is hearts blood drawn
to hearts blood.
And it provides a warmth
that no poppy can
produce.

It drives some mad,
until they're left
peering into the bottle,    
pounding the polished
wood top for more.

The heart is truly
unbreakable.
If only it could
crack just
a little.
If only the hollow in the
chest could be dumped full
of the good times
and left just as that.

When did forever
equal a year,
how could something
so good
end up in tears.

I wish to rip my
heart out,
bury it in a wooden
box deep
below the earth.
Hide it away
from its need
to be loved.

I lived alone and
alone was good.
I did not seek it out
it found me.
.
And the torture
lays not
within the
waiting.