Your heart
Is clenched so tightly,
It’s gasping to breathe
As you give him back. . .

Delicate eyelashes droop
And hide wondering orbs of innocence,
Yet the fresh heart of that tiny life
Is yet black. . . Yet throbs with self-concerned sorrows.
Why?

Your heart
Is clenched so tightly,
It’s gasping to scream
In the space of sound. . .

Language unspoken curl
Into the ear, writhing in the very soul,
And summoning experiences only dreams realize.
Yet that music is illusion. . . the opium of mankind.
How?

Your heart
Is clenched so tightly,
It’s gasping to release
Beyond symbols perceived

Marks of senseless order march
Into meaning and make up the sum of our days,
Yet logic exalts in the overthrow of wisdom
And reason slays the inventor of the mind.
What for?

My heart
Has been loosened
And is often lost, gasping
at a myriad of mysteries . . .

Forgive me.

I am yet a child weeping over childish woes.