meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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of my battered heart




sometimes the morning cup is not enough
to wake me

the weariness has truly set in

am I the keeper
of everyone
but myself

I am chilled to my winters wearied bones

yet I carry on

love is a strange prodding...
a stick
a whip
a worry-stone
a whetting edge to sharpen the heart

I wonder how my stays hold me together
how I am not in ragged shreds
or how my heart is not enlarged to the size of an
elephant's or a whale's

why this doggedness
why the hanging on

am I a betrayer of myself
and of my battered heart

and of love
the great wide leap into the unknown








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