Inside a Heart

All because I wanted to know,
The eternal mystery…what causes it to THINK,
All because I wanted the glory
(thousands of words have been shed to no avail),
All because the soul cannot be held in a hand,
Like a heart can.

Pulling it free from its web of life,
Feeling it gasp for breath, though it cannot breathe,
Smelling the warm brine of blood,
Watching it slowing to a dead rest on my fingertips.
Two deaths in one—a body separated from its pump.
I have a sneaking suspicion: the soul plays evil games.

Who’s to say, does a heart feel greater pain,
longing to be loved
or reeling from a love that has gone?
The soul keeps a distinct identity
Much Longer
Than the most stubborn heart can bleed.

And always trumping this game,
causes strain in the human psyche to mourn
the death of a Heart, much longer than the release of a Soul.

very nice write, and welcome

Welcome and Ty for your write gashly

Welcome!

aww shucks, thank you all

Wow!