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. |
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