Heart In The Sky
Thee and thine and thou art more
Than of such ignoble lore.
For, if I'm made of star stuff,
That my heart be more than fluff,
Such a star be form'd of it.
No part shall I dare omit.
Soul and thought and body-mine,
'Ere be shaped, realign'd,
Put above, that all may see.
To remind, affirm daily
Where words or deeds may yet fail
For the sky doth all assail.
There, a constellation true
All for the loving of you.
My Heart is a Boulder
My heart is a boulder, made strong by time and shaped by the loves I have known. Each nook and cranny holds secrets - regrets or missed chances or failed attempts. The boulder is fortified with the nutrients of the earth; likewise, my heart is fortified by the memories we share. As much care and effort used to craft it, a single strike in the fault line breaks the boulder. How could such a mighty thing be brought low? How could the love in my heart have such a weakness? Love makes us strong; together, we can do anything. With the greatest of weapons is the boulder slain. No sword or axe may cause such a defect. No great taurnado could throw the stoutest boulder. As if dropped by a giant, the fault found and the crack begun. With the foulest of words has the love in my heart been stripped away. Sinister, flowing, here for only a moment, but the effects never to be forgotten or hidden.
"I am unhappy."
My heart is a pile of rocks, broken by ebb and flow around. Time waxes and wanes, ever bringing new experiences, ever taking the experience too soon. With each new day, pieces are broken from each other. No violent hammer wrought this mess. No arrow could shatter this rock as glass. The moment was still... quiet... pregnant... The tears were sharp and gravity failed the world.
"I don't feel that way anymore."
My heart is gravel, crunching softly as others pass by. One might look down and notice a pretty agate or see a pattern, gone as more footsteps go through. The winds of change scatter the gravel heedless of their origin. Many will never be seen again. A few will fill the pockets of curious youth. Each day with you spreads out as a mess, as worthless to others as invaluable to one. Those days will never be recaptured. Your smile never again birthing laughter or sharing its sunshine warmth where needed most. The weight of the gravel seems more than a dozen trice would ever be.
"I have decided."
My heart is sand, whipped by the errant breeze or lightest hand. Each grain, a memory of what was, each word coloring the sand grain uniquely. My tears might hold the sand for a time. Would that I could cry a river to bring all the sand of my heart back together, to have it in one place again. Such tears would direct their own current and not collect as I wish. Such tears would find folly in keeping unhappy memories or inside jokes or dreams wondered unspoken. What is lost will never be found, cruelly spread by tears shed together.
"We are over."
My heart was a boulder and rocks and gravel and sand yesterday. My heart was a boulder and rocks and gravel and sand today. Then on the morrow, my heart will be a boulder and rocks and gravel and sand again, less each time. Would that my heart were a boulder, for rocks do not feel the pain of erosion, do not weep at the loss of a rock-experience or a gravel-day or sand-memory.
Boulders do not cry out in agony as the breaking process begins anew with the crested sun.
Boulders do not remember what has been lost and spread to the world.
Boulders do not miss the sunshine warmth of your laughter nor count the days since the last tear was shed.
Boulders do not feel the loss the way my heart does.
So, why then does my heart break every day again? How are there pieces left to notice what is gone?
I am more than my heart, more than the pain it feels each time it breaks.
I know one day someone will scoop together the sand of my heart with a smile.
I know one day someone will gather the gravel of my heart with a squeeze of their hand in mine.
I know one day someone will re-bond the rocks of my heart with a hug.
I know one day someone will unite pieces of my heart and theirs into a boulder.
I know one day someone will forge that boulder with new words, ringing clearly for all the world and no one but me to hear.
My heart does not know that. My heart knows today, and breaks anew. Every moment alive is agony and I wish for my heart to be rock, to have a moment of peace from the pain. It is agony each moment without you, without what makes sense only to me but not to you.
"I love you."
My heart is a boulder: shattered, incomplete, utterly broken without you.
Cody S Bakken