of hearts

what are we to Him but dust at His feet? if so, are we even entitled to love?

what more should a heart seek
if he is bllind by fifty?
what more should he long for
if all he has he loses as well?
who so then should welcome his soul
after a dark night
if by chance, none would let him in?
what better way to kill a heart
than by taking his heartbeat away?

if seasons failed
and time stood still
what happy thoughts linger in a heart?
what simple joys and quiet sighs
does he create?
if all was lost in battles unfought
what hope remains in his silent nook?
lest taken heed
he be unnerved.

if, and when, hearts are pure
what little ways does he enjoy?
playtime by the beach
or making other hearts bleed in hearths?
does he assume all that he sees
and never lets things complex?
what does a heart have
but faith in love (or none at all).

where hearts fail
dreams emerge - quiet, undaunted
unstirred.
what is left are tears
that run dry
and spirits running low.
of chains that bind hearts and men
to the darkness -
it that invites, loves
unfolds.
what more should a heart seek
if he was blind by fifty?
probably, his soul.

i believe we are.