The Heart Of Things Poem by Frank Bana

There must be a man somewhere
Who sees into the heart of things.
 
Ventricles clogged by secret lust
For violence, bitter juice, revenge
Lost hope in passage, aspiration,
Breath, the dreams of dull routines
 
Drops of cherry-coloured tears
In channels run, immortal fears
That rear unbidden, clog and check
And strangle life remaining
 
Elevated, rising steam
From burning embers of the fight
Bright visions of eternity
In yearning for immunity
 
The heart lies void, resentful in the night
Its longing an imperative
To know the pleasure of the dawn
Pulsating in its seizure.
 
I know there is a man somewhere
Who sees into the heart of things
 
Sighing, he spreads out his wings
And cries.