The heart knows not
The heart is naïve
It doesn’t cease to muse
It knows not contemplation
The heart wants what it wants
Even if it’s the fire to burn it to crisp
Even if it’s the curse to damn it for eternity
Even if it’s poison meant to obliterate it
The heart will cheerfully be Lain in a field of thorns
The heart blindly yearns for what it yearns
Sweet sadness creeping under the skin like a moving swarm of ants
Nibbling as they go
So and so and so
For the heart wants want it wants
I drowned in melancholy
No shrewdness would haul me from the hole I stumbled
I fussed; I kicked except I kept sinking
I sunk till I was no more
Till what was left was a ghoul
Of my former self
Left to haunt all who saunter the surface of the earth
Bearing the fantasy of love
The heart wants want it wants
Even if it means its very own destruction.
Muzamir
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