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My Heart

My heart must be very dark

hidden so deep inside my chest.

If only my skin and flesh and bones

would let the sun shine through;

like the petals of a flower in the afternoon,

so that the shadows would dapple

my atria and ventricles

like a forest floor beneath a jigsaw canopy.

And in the warmth of such soft light,

who knows what strange fruits and flowers

might blossom there and grow,

and stretch their way out through open valves,

so that all the colours of sunlight

flowing through their veins

would be flowing through my own.

Through my skin, they would sing

to their cousins under the vast blue sky;

and as the music meets and intertwines,

the radiant notes like bonding electrons,

I am held in the world.

But my skin holds out the light,

so my heart has grown too dark and cold

for flowers to grow there,

and I fear that the emptiness

it pumps relentlessly through my veins

will drown my soul

and soon the world

will let me go.


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