The Body’s Wheelman
How quiet and fast it drives
Heart its name
Flow its game
Arteries its frame
Whether to prevent
Or to cause
The wheelman
Determines flesh and blood’s demand
Making sure life and security
Are maintained at the curb
Of each and every destination
Each and every pause
Always keeping life’s engine pumping
While destiny decides the successes
The pauses,
And the threats
Always present around the security
Of longevity’s steady pulse
Such is…
The Fort Knox of security
The holding castle of longevity
Mortality’s complexity of purpose
Forever in danger
Without the wheelman’s loyalty
Right down to its dying breath
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That's why I like your poem today so well. The heart is a muscle. An untiring muscle that beats only so many beats in a lifetime. You described the heart's power so well that I have to laud you for it. You gave the heart in your poem the praise it so deserves. Our hearts adapt from resting to fight and flight in an instant. And then, gradually adapt to the rigors of old age. I've heard stories of the heart healing itself after a bad heart attack. Few organs in the body can do that.
Ron