What heart is this
That can open and close
At will, never taking its fill,
Pouring out when ill,
Pounding loudly while the eyes
Stand still, proudly bounding
As the mouth says nil?

It goes on bleeding,
Feeling and retreating,
Treading…resetting.

This heart’s handler
Has quaking hands,
Shaky stands,
Secret plans.

Peeled open,
Each layer bare
To any warm eye,
This heart does
Not truly tell a lie.

In long silences
It has spoken,
As it lay inside its owner
Broken…never fully closed,
Even with fears imposed.

This heart is what
It was created to be,
With a third eye to see,
Loving capability.

Only when the heart breaks
Free will it finally give fully.