Poetry
Poetry
Poetry
There is no comfort inside a broken heart
no place to safely step in a shattered heart
There is no comfort where there is no power
stripped down to the bright red wounded heart
There were children walking that street, that field
now there’s only the bitter dust of mother’s heart
Every single day, all over this singular earth
we weaponize our minds against the heart
All the uniforms say ‘I will kill if I am told to’
Fingers taut, targeting anyone with freedom of the heart
Tell me, will you ever lose your acquired taste
for the raw flesh of a young and supple heart
And how long will we scream and beat our chests in anguish
Before we divest from all structures not rooted in the heart?