Purple hearts
Purple hearts on granite slabs
waiting for a slice
the white coated man raises his knife
searching for advice.
They had shone through the madness
in beseech of a mate
hearts wondering lost in the clouds
to end face down on a cold granite slab
just a face - etched
on a white linen shroud.
Still so heavy each purple heart
blood dripping without refrain
that same tired beat of yesterday
pumping out the last of the pain.
So tip toe passed the broken hearts
for they have nothing to say
they have found a new home
in a jar on the shelf
and to be frank
they prefer it that way.
© Rik - 03/03/2006
Poetry by Rik
Read 1460 times
Written on 2006-03-03 at 08:00
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