It still works

It bleeds. Ever so, ever more. But it works. It still pumps. The tiny drum that beats inches away from the rib cage. Sometimes wonder how many more beats are left. How many more will be stolen by a special someone who cares to forgive and forget when it beats too hard.

In company or when alone. Sometimes wonder if it’s the heart that one needs to live or the cerebral matter of 5 ounces that directs the limbs and much more.

It beats ever more, ever so. Wonder where the good times went, then I know they are all there deep in the bosom. I stole a few beats too, from someone. Does the someone care or realize or look back?

The tiny drum, forlorn and alone still beats. In sleep and when wide awake. Fast in dreams and faster when memories come flooding back. Strange still is how the cerebral matter and the drum work in tandem to put me – the individual in question, in dilemma.

Sometimes wonder why and how I am sandwiched. But I know I will transcend this as well. The drum – the heart needs to be healed. The heart. The Cerebral matter, the brain, the mind and what’s in it needs to forget.

Eyes convey a lot. Sometimes like little puddles that show no emotion. Sometimes like lakes that contain a world inside. Ask within, the answers lie there. For whoever cared to listen, and for those who know. For those that lost, lose and yearn.

Man kills the very thing he loves said Neitzsche. True. How very true.

Regards,

Cerebral Zephyr