Angry hearts

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The heart cannot feast
on the love it does not meet,
so it turns to what it knows,
to the familiar abode.
Every heart has a default setting,
a place it once called home,
and to this home it shall return.

Some hearts find comfort
in the freedom of a hard run
on tarred and winding roads,
amd yet another in drugs, sex and rock n roll,
and a third in the healthy confines
of a safe and loving family home.
Who knows where you were
when at first you experienced love?

We cannot choose whether we are born
in Winter or in Spring,
and we do not all believe in God,
but we all experience life,
and to some it is pleasurable
and to others it means pain.

He whose heart was born in Spring
sees life in everything.
He whose heart was born in Winter
sees the end of everything.
What joy for some,
what doom for yet another?

It is pure torture to belong
to a group of darkened hearts
whose bitterness drenches
through every open pore,
and for the hearts born in Spring
life's a joke, a song, so sing!

I stand to be corrected.
Is it not our thoughts
that are born instead
and our minds that control them,
lets them live or die,
hope or cry?
Hearts, o hearts, listen not
to the tears and sorrow,
but be born again.

Acceptance is the key to turn
the door inside your heart
to open rather than close
and believe that you can
let out and let in equally,
and fear is not present here,
so be free to reveal your heart.




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