Hearts, by Britta Benson

Photo by Magdaline Nicole on Pexels.com

Bit of a weird one, about hearts, but I like it. I take things to literally or not literally at all. So this is what I wrote today:


Who we were,

who we are,

always the same core,

the same heart.

Our souls meander,

take leave as they please,

come back changed

or not at all…

Souls enjoy getting lost.

I guess, our hearts feel a little stuck.

Beating, beating, beating.

Change, not welcome.

Change means danger, disease,

Change means too fast, too slow,

or not regular enough.

Hearts are forbidden to skip much.

We get upset if they do…

No flitting, no giddy jigging,

all suspect behaviour.

We want the drum, drum, drum,

steady like a lighthouse.

We aim to give our souls the strongest wings,

let them roam and flutter, like butterflies.

We keep our hearts on tight leads in our chests.

Afraid to wiggle the teensiest, tiniest bit.

Is it any wonder our hearts ache from time to time?

All that longing… and no place to go!

Our souls return with stories, adventures, greatness.

Rub it in with glee.

In your face, heart!

Beat that!

And our hearts do just that,

in the background,

over and over again,

until they’re spent.

We should teach our souls

to be kind to our core!

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