To My Heart

Dear Heart,

Prosaic to poetic, you are my greatest symphony.

Potential to kinetic, your beats are fading vividly.  

Suddenly, your strings are frozen.

Even the winter has whistling tunes chosen.

 

Visions of spring will still blossom through the concrete.

Life is not in him; create your own beat.

He doesn’t cultivate you, nor harmonize.

Your rich, red chambers aren’t home in his eyes.

 

Your melody converts skies from blue to black.

Healing knows when to change the track.

Please don’t be somber; I know you get lonely.

Stretch your fibers, and see you have company.

 

Molecules are racing towards you for a front row seat.

Keep squeezing blood to my lungs as a placid treat.

Prosaic to poetic, you are my euphonic illusion.

Potential to kinetic, you never needed his transfusion.  

 

This poem is about: 
Me
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