"pericardium" poems
It’s irritating,
When words seem to be
Unfaithful blemishes
Of yesterday’s past,
And a constant annoyance,
Unwitting today’s unknown.
To think about your what if’s,
And should don’ts of,
Repetitive reminders from the scars,
Engraved in you’re witty,
But beating heart is a daring,
Challenge to an unfaithful mind.
The fear to hold joy,
When a dark rose neglects,
The power of a white one,
In it’s purified significance,
Unveiling the worth and,
And the death of its own demise.
But no one realizes the faithful
Beauty of a dark rose.
To sting, to warn to challenge,
To be truthful to the subconscious,
Of the heart that also has protection,
Held and brace by pericardium.
Even the heart needs to be comforted,
And the mind in need of consolation,
So remove the stones blocking your eyes,
From your visual death,
Of growth and compassion,
Love is blind,
The mind is weak.
Then there is fear,
You can overcome.
So overcome it,
With the passion in your eyes,
The smile that you have,
For the very truth of your wellbeing.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 9:20 AM UTC
The house, when empty,
feels like a moseleum.
Everything is dark.
It is strange, how literally I can feel the heart tear.
Pericardium and myocardium,
ripping with the slow, tough **** of time and waiting,
atrium and ventricle split.
Far away my brain turns in on itself
as I stare at the candy on the road,
left from a Christmas parade,
Defined by the things its left behind,
though they lie unwanted.
My soul has fled to the wilderness
birth pangs of grief beginning,
prepared to deliver a stillborn heart,
As another star falls out of my sky.
It will go dark, I know.
One by one fall, without wishes to bring them back.
I stare at my sister's golden hair
and dread the day when she will be the one lying white,
bloodless
in a hospital bed.
Oh my mother, Oh my father,
are you to fall away, too?
Light. I scream, I need light.
But I will not throw bits of glass at the sky
to pretend I have re-lit the stars.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
you always ask me about love when i think that we are creating it.
when our entwined legs mimic the twin quotation marks encircling
a silence, your fingers tracing out crop circles onto my chest as if
they're attempting to communicate every scar across the galaxy.
i will answer with an alarm clock heartbeat and a tongue that glides
through your ear like honey: some people only love in the dark.
it's guarded with a harlequin smile but what i wish i could say is this:
i believe that people's hearts meet like plane engines on landing pads,
crashing down just long enough to leave trails on the concrete before
they realize how much they miss tasting the air between their toes.
i believe that when sid first saw nancy, his bloodstream confused her
smile with the iv that supplied his starving veins punk rock & poison.
i believe that love either leaves you to bleed or to wish you still could.
but i also believe that love can last. for nine long years, hachiko
nuzzled against packed concrete and waited on empty railway cars
because the odds were, his dead owner would have to come home.
there is a man who serenaded his shower walls with the name of a
disappearing girl; i hear he still makes love to her ghost every night,
surrounded by a stadium-lit choir who wouldn't recognize her face.
the last time you asked me about forever, i realized that stars don't
even last that long, let alone feelings we shove inside pericardium.
what we deem unsinkable can hit one glacier and send a thousand
into the sea; forever is three syllables that even titanic can't touch.
my nineteen years are a paper anchor if this ship ever goes down,
but i'll be ****** if a psychic's visions of fire and ice and endings
stop me from falling in love on deck until the band stops playing.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 6:37 AM UTC
your cephalic is now distal from my axial
posterior when you used to be anterior
missing our deep talks, instead of superficial ones
your orbital region all but glances at my mammaries
tilting your mental up and away from me
ignoring my lateral buccal
I miss our manus's clenched together at the median
your pollex rubbing my digital
palmer's together
my thoracic lunges at you
trying to grip onto you using all my pericardium
my umbilical region hurts
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
the titanic
sitting in my chest
unsinkable
unmovable
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
given emerald veins
enfracture sightful caverns
of this pulmonary gaze,
earthbeat pericardium of whim
and mystic with a settled dew of ages--
some heady ancient script of silk
still gathers fragile nourishment
and struggle warmth to drain
my needless thoughts of flight,
center span to dome the air--
geodesy of form
enframing emptiness
and crimson fates
to quench
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
I was thirteen when I made the first incision on my ****** heart, allowing its contents to pour out in a heavenly wave of confusion and innocence.
Which is fine.
I was fourteen when I tried to stitch the pericardium back together with the “I love you’s” that were never meant to be said, the heat of the activity, and the temporary “Stay Strong”s.
Which is also fine.
I was fifteen when I learned that the heart muscle can only regenerate in small, limited quantities, that it would never be quite the same in its entirety.
Which is, again, fine.
Now I am seventeen days from my sixteenth birthday, and I’m learning that time spent alone can not only let you find yourself, but can also lead you to parts of yourself you weren’t meant to discover quite yet.
But I am almost sixteen, and it’s too late. I cannot forget what I know.
Maybe seventeen will be kinder.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
If you question
Straight thyself,
Commanding pride of trust
Prefer to maintain love,
Resort monotheism
Make the land paradise
Would receive ne'er
Own assertive voice.
When fear to death
Exists in whole,
Quick forget old differences
Fretful prepense firm release.
Don't care,
About breed and community
None trace
Ground of velocity.
Though well teach
The religion,
He is above mighty one
Only regulate each pericardium,
Universe call His pleasure
Man's power mean nothing
Could e'er leak retired
Let have many logic gorgeous worming.
His angry look invite
Cruelty by innate,
What melodious seen
Guess enjoyed requisite -
Set on single platform,
Fast evade blind destructive belief
Sail arch over brotherhood
Cultivate rectitude in live.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 6:29 AM UTC
There was someone who loved me before I loved him. According to medical researchers his heart failed, that is before he was impaled. They said blood and water came out, Because he was stabbed in the heart.The pericardium is in the back, odds are they punctured that sac. So when we talk about heart break, let’s think about someone who’s heart was actually broke under the force of a spear, the reason why anyone in heaven can say “this is why I am here, I no longer have to fear.” Love that I can’t fathom, love is not an ****** Love actually matters on the grand scheme of life, so in light of this, let us believe in the Son that gives us light and let’s treat each other right.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
I let him hold my heart in his hands
Hoping he would be gentle
I prayed he wouldn't leave me
Like the others before him
He was promising
His hands sheltered my beating muscle
His fingers were a ribcage
Palms - a protective skin
But the commitment wasn't enough
And he dropped my ****** vessels
He stole the pericardium away
And left me with an infection
He dangled his theft in front of me
He watched me try to mask the pain
Knowing he took the protective layer away
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
open wounds tear through my flesh,
dead weight fills up my heart's pericardium,
darkness of sorrow slowly consumes my soul,
a habit of relentless grieving of the unforgotten.
there's a tombstone in my head,
in a graveyard of old memories and undead people,
not quite fancy, but once in a while
I sit beside it with a mug of coffee and anxiety.
I talk to it as if it were alive,
sometimes as if I hope it would talk back
and take off the dead weight and misery in my heart,
I grieve for the gone yet undead people whom I deeply loved.
sometimes I would bring some kerosene and match,
hoping to scorch down the place to ease all the pain,
but I am human; I exist, I love, I feel, and I remember
I may grieve of the unforgotten today, but I will live.
IA
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 9:49 AM UTC
A knock on pericardium’s wall
That were once slammed closed
He appeared
Holding a bouquet
Made of paper roses.
-Dr Priya Tripathi
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 1:53 PM UTC