My heart usually does not behave like a dog
But it gets hungry, barks and throws a tantrum.
First:
My heart calls to the unknown skies
But always knows where to go.
Second:
It wanders through the miseries of the day
But returns to the piety of companionship.
Third:
My mind meanders on dusty, dismal paths
But when tired sleeps under the shade.
Fourth:
My disquieting dreams dart pell-mell in the sky
But always find a path to return to veracity.
Fifth:
My heart enters the depths of despondency
But always surfaces to see the light of day.
Sixth:
My heart is single, alive and residual,
But still needs culpable stories to beguile.
The Moral:
Let sleeping hearts lie under the table
But pacify them with crumbs of simulacra. |
|
