Of the heart

 

The heart, a symbol of love,

but the seat of melancholy.

A seal of ideals and loyalty.

To steal the heart would be a folly.

 

The heart, a sign of fidelity,

an instrument to play its intoxicating melody.

The key to love's long-lost tomb.

What of the heart that is consumed?

 

The heart, a visage of kindness

but it can sometimes trespass

on our minds

and cloud our thoughts.

 

The heart, a token of those sweet moments

when all we can do is swim on the emotions

of love's entrancing oceans.

But what of the heart that is broken?

 

The heart, an emblem of two halves beating.

Two sides coming together as one.

A vessel that holds hope,

but what of the heart

that is dropped in the dark?

Shattered in pieces, crumbled to dust.

What of the heart that is lost?

Never to be found, buried in the dirt.

What of the heart 

that yearns to stop feeling such hurt?

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle