Hearts
We must not play with hearts
for who can calculate
what they are capable of, or
what becomes of them
How they slip, change shape
practice forgetfulness and purge,
surrendering pleasure with pain
as unsteady burdens of memory
Or how they grow wayward, wild
the wounded become wounding
and, in order to keep alive,
treacherous in the trenches
Until they are unrecognizable
to their owners, brokers or breakers
and what began as deception
proves to be a self-delusion
The heart has its treasons
that reason does not know -
why it must cheat, lie, even die
just to stand a chance at rebirth.
