#heartpoem
Word.
Rhyme, rhythm
Song.
Beat.
Phrasing, lyrics
Heart.
Love.
Hate, discordant
Sentiment.
Passion.
Fire, stirring
Fervour.
Song.
Melody, call
Strain.
Song of my heart,
Heart of my song.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
Heart —
hollow until tomorrow.
A man, a painter, once aimed so far
he broke his bow; his reach stretched
wider than his hands could hold.
Dreams, swollen with glory, dripped
down the bristles of a hardened brush
— dipped in the wetness of tears,
each stroke a storm, heavy with passion.
It starts with a pit —
a seed pressed deep in the soil, a hollow
carved where something once stood,
a cave widening in the chest.
In the immensity of a workshop built from
cheap wood, tell me —
where does a heart take root?
Cutting down those trees is mayhem waiting
to happen; for when the pit is flawed,
the whole foundation caves.
And maybe that’s why we doubt
the truth we’re told.
They said,
“_the great tree fell_.”
But if you never saw it fall yourself,
would you ever believe it made a sound?
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 12:13 PM UTC