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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That word

There is a word we all have spoken,
a word as eternal as time,
a word not easily uttered,
although, it is whispered and shouted,
while it contains the parable of existence,
poets, cannot explained this word, yet
it is comprehended, and, misunderstood,
cleaved, it becomes a dichotomy,
a pronouncement of hate and desire,
such a word is at creations center,
a single word that begins a journey,
a step into insanity, jealousy,
a voyage of commitment, peace, tranquility,
it describes the deepest ocean,
circumscribes the limits of the cosmos,
has the power to drive nations to war,
or, cause giants to tremble as a babe,
it can bring souls together, as well as
force them apart into despair,
such a word is a magical source,
it should never be used foolishly,
for it has made fools of us all,
having conquered its tremendous power,
accepting it for its eternal beginning,
vowing ones heart to its burden,
is to become free, soaring lighter than air,
basking in its warm consuming light,
it is that word, which gives joy,
spoken in the brilliance of dawn,
murmured under the coverlet of twilight,
it is a reason for living and for life,
all languages contain this word,
sadly, few have the wisdom to say it.

©2012, Donald Harbour