Etymology of the Heart

Deep down inside of me,
a question lingers, languishing.
Which heart will I have today?
That muscle that contracts,
The one that pumps life, or
The one that aches, and waits.
Playing the jester to hearten
these heartless hours, comically
synchronizing each heartbeat.
Ticktock of this life’s clock,
it is folly to believe the song of heartstrings
could capture the fire of desire.
So I wait for the masters’ decision,
its heart-to-heart prognostication,

©2019, Donald Harbour

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A constant flame

In my heart is a candle
ever burning steady and brightly.
It knows not a tempest swell
nor does it harken to breezes.
The flame paints each shadow
illuminating with golden hues.
Those darkest recessed corners
brightened by its flickering warmth.
This unblemished eternal taper
stands against the snuffer of time.
How can it be that a mere man
could come to know such wonderful love?

©2012, Donald Harbour

This chill

bone of my bones
flesh of my flesh
succor me now
in this hour of night
when the blush
has left the grape
the winds bring
the valley mist
rolling over hills
past the barren vineyard
toward the ocean current
seeking north though
not knowing why
it drifts from me
yet it lies deep
finding each crevice
in the veneer of life
bone of my bones
flesh of my flesh
why is there this chill
in my heart and soul

©2010, Donald Harbour

You hold my heart

Graphic art by Donald Harbour

Lips - graphic art by Donald Harbour

At night, when
You slowly enter my world,
When I am asleep, dreaming
Susceptible to you,
I know you are there.
I watch you glide across
The floor of my mind,
Elusive, furtive, sensuously,
A butterfly of desire.
There is a moment, a flicker
That catches my breath,
I cannot breathe with you
In my mind.
I am drowning in a pool
Of love, need, ache,
You hold my heart in your hands,
And you know it.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour