Scars Of Heartbeats Poem by George Samuel

When a man is empty,
And his heartbeat is guilty,
His home coming is not,
Vain as a grinding slot,
Gain of life is a blot.

If man was love,
Why is pain a bluff,
Open so gentle, then a stab,
Upon pleasure on a woman's lap,
Strikes across the face like a slab.

The claps stopped earlier,
Shredded like a chandelier,
Then man walks alone,
In the dark with a groan,
In the day when he mourns.

He sobs for his mother,
In the hour of his murder,
His mother's love is true,
His lovers name in blue,
He calls love his clue.