Saturday

The Way Hearts Are

Some have a slippery outside,
green, like fresh moss
growing on the bricks
of old crumbling walls.

Some are musty within,
and one must tread weary
lest all that damp should make
us sneeze.

Some have old wounds
that died before the heart,
like tattoos on the back of a
Russian gangster.

Some burn like charcoal,
and from a distance, they
are oh so warm.

Some beat like the slow gurgling
waves of high tide,
or the wind upon the barley farm.

The Author wishes his readers a Warm Valentine's Day.

3 comments:

vaiby said...

Hey, this is a good one!

Sagar said...

Vaibhav~Thanks. :)

nikheel said...

Damn good poems!!
Liked all!

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