Limp Hearts.

 

Limp Hearts!

©-MFB III 

 

Limp hearts
crippled by grief,
pump Love's residues out
in slow trickles like tears.


The remnants of what was
passionate bliss,
once absorbed so fully
in joyous saturation,
now oozes out like a sponge.


This loving heart that so enjoyed
the beating of those stereo staccato's,
of two times so much more,
has now been squeezed out by the
merciless grip of loneliness.

Limp hearts go on
but the pulse is thready,
stitched by holes,
poked by a sharp tongue,
or the cruel barbed wires of farewells.

Hobbling on the crutches
of "maybe next time?"
limp hearts are not so quick
to skip a beat
or spurt maniacally
at any others kind words
or new eyes that say come on.

Lust of course,
can set the pumps flowing,
but the possibility of love
brings pause,
one is quicker to wait
before taking that leap again,
tentatively testing
the heat of a moment,
wary of what's lukewarm,
and debilitating to them.

Thus limp hearts all over the world
can be heard shuffling,
in the wee hours of the mourn.


Pacing back and forth as
their empty chambers echo
against a sternum face.


The isolation found between the ribs
that enclose their hearts like bars
cast long shadows
that darken all hope where
limp hearts remain.

Long after love has been executed,
they remain prisoners to what
their soul says should have been perfect,
but what their lives have proven
unattainable unless flawed.

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