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Heart, by Britta Benson

This poem was prompted by ‘The Procrastinators’ Midweek Writing Prompt.



Just a fistsize muscle

that holds the secrets

of my world

in its continuous dance

and drums ta-dum code

until the end of time.


Just an unsightly lump,

flanked by my lungs,

kept safe, warm, hidden,

underneath layers and lobes,

hopes and prayers.

Not a vegetarian.


Just an echo chamber,

containing ancestries,

spilling whispers,

the pulse of now,

linking lost generations

with the promise of tomorrow.


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