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The Heart
Buried, like treasure and trash,
within the human morass,
the Heart keeps rhythm
with the world it sees.
The child's heart, like a forgetful fly,
runs carelessly into the spider's web
of desire.
The teenager's heart echos in a
distant past, hardly heard,
like the distant echo of a chirping bird,
because teenagers, like swallows,
fly too fast.
The parent's heart heralds the challenges
of each day, bringing many parents
to their knees to pray.
The old heart chugs,
a strained train inching up a forever hill.
It's old, rusted from the torrents of tears,
and often becomes quite ill.
The dead heart is finally freed
from the world of worry and desperate need.
The dream the Heart once lived
disperses into the mists of memory,
forever to disappear.
Was any of it real?
9/26/2007
The Heart
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