Awake

O, The Fickle Material Of The Heart

O, the fickle material of the heart:
It seems to change from day to day.

Is the heart a chameleon
Bleeding into background
Hiding discreetly in stillness
From would-be lookers-on?

Or is it a fiery mass of energy
Shining brightly, brazenly, like the sun
Simultaneously warming and blinding
Until it burns out, sucking all life into a vacuous hole?

Sometimes I think it a precious vase
Knocked down quite purposefully
Intentionally, blatantly, and quite rudely
From its pedestal to the ground below.

And then what is the heart
After such a fall
And another and another
And again another after that?

Is it mostly glue now
Mostly cracks
Primarily broken
And only really tentatively put together again?

It seems more resilient than that
Don't you think
Even at times when darkness falls
And things never fail to get themselves broken?

Perhaps it's as the anatomist declares
A functional network of cells
Designed to bring oxygen and life
To a living being.

Prone to injury and disease
But designed to beat faithfully
And happily bring health and vitality
Til every cell in the body is well.

Perhaps it is all of these things
At different times
In moments good and bad
Full of sorrow and bursting with joy.

I only know that the heart
Whatever it is made of
Is full of memory
And overflowing with thought, will, and desire.

So perhaps metaphors are pointless
Maybe analogies useless
Whatever the material of the heart
It is to be cherished, protected, and most of all...

Well, used.

So use it well.