Look. Observe. Can you see what I see. Here in my hand. A heart like the one in you and me.
Look closer, can you see?
The heart bears chambers. The valves the doors. The blood gushing, pumping through walls. Waves crashing a sign, a wake up call.
A feeling with motion.
The heart moves with or without its host. It cares not for you, your well-being, your state of life or death.
It beats with a lulling thud…. thud…. thud,
your mind a marsh with thoughts so harsh and love so strong you seek a bond-
But all you find is a heart, expanding, contracting, alive or dead, blood red, nothing but an organ the doctors said.
A job, a function, a pump.
It fools its host to think it thinks but all it does is that. Fooling a fool whose fallen in love and loves to fool the fool. It’s the center of blame and all it can do is pump blood in you.
Poems and prose, tattoos on you and her, the heart is but a symbol of what it isn’t. They love to blame the burden of love on this bloody beating thing.
Look, look, can you see? The heart has stopped beating for you and me. Here it finally lies, at eternal rest, parted from its donors chest.
Now you see? The value of a heart begins after its last beat. And now lines and lines of people wait to steal this heart away.