Listen to your heart
That beats upon your drum.
Listen to its beating
That resounds in a steady hum.
Listen to the life force
That surges forward on its course.
Listen to the whispers
That utter secrets of misery and remorse.
Listen to the pain
That shouts out horrible cries.
Listen to the emotion
That moans pitiful sighs.
Listen to the heart’s command
That scolds us in reproach.
Listen to the delicacy of the heart
That shatters into pieces like glass.
Listen to the footsteps
That dance with joy in the heart.
Listen to the temple gong
That resounds in waves from the heart.
Listen to the voices of the heart
That sing, oh but how they sing.
Listen to the heart strings
That play a mournful tune.
Listen to the tears
The heart will shed over the years.
Listen to the heart that breaks
Now on the mend for its own sake.
Hello heart,
My companion and friend,
You are with me to the end.
To the very last beat,
As I walk down the street.
When I lay down to rest,
One last time,
Never to get up again,
I will listen to my heart,
As it gives itself away.
An interesting change of poetic pace. In this case, driven by your heart. By all standards it appears that your heart is very strong. It is an amazing muscle to be able to work so long without very much maintenance, and sometimes, a lot of abuse.
As your poem states, it would be everyone's wish for at the appointed time, to lie down and let the heart gently shut off… Preferably in sleep.
it is interesting to notice that our heart is clean and empty, like a tube in which sounds a heavenly symphony we are unable to listen to inter vivos; all the cacophony so sensitively and colourfully described here occurs in the pericardium, the Santa Claus sack with a bundle of childish toys and serious weaponry for our playing with throughout life. The heart's heavenly symphony, I guess, which sounds differently for each of us, can only be heard once, at the very end of. . . at death's door ;)) Cheers, alex
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
Love ya!
Jane
As your poem states, it would be everyone's wish for at the appointed time, to lie down and let the heart gently shut off… Preferably in sleep.
Ron