Beating Heart Poem by Kevin Maroney

The beat, the tick, the endless heart,
Comes quick, fast, like a a nonsense harp,
a percussion drill, so loud but faint,
Unstoppable, inconsolable, inconscionable to a deadly gait.

It perfuses the air, corrupted the soul,
yet without it the soul would be bereft,
living in torment, yet living still,
the heart beats towards endless nill.

Yet terrible, unconscious, the void rattles,
till on the ending tide doth the horse be saddled,
Freedom granted in a lonely wish,
is yet still accepted by a now lonesome fish.

Beating, battering the conscious rythm runs,
till from the breaking day doth come the blood red sun.