Saturday, January 3, 2015
Bitter fruits cast regrets to the lower heart,
It grows pale and swollen by the hour,
Turning into an orange of suffering and obedience.
The heart is the actor of the lifetime,
Swirling energy has reigned due to the rate
At which it beats with clocks and locks.
My success is my lifespan that I count in years,
The opposite of dying would be a word in itself.
That word is a recipe for shameful men and
Attendant hearts, for shame runs deep
Like the fires of Hell, and my word is Heaven
That resounds in the sky of the overpowering mind.
The upper heart sees warlike episodes of sentinels,
They speak towards the grandeur of a king in white robes,
For winter is slothful, as the sloth is certain of rescinding.
The heart is a better instrument for the year that transgresses,
Mild sin entered the cavities, and the capillaries of a day
In this body of mine shatter, fulfilling blood and serum.
The kind acts of heartfelt people accuse nobody of sin,
For the hearts are attuned to freedom of the air and water.
Topic(s) of this poem: heartache