the most precious thing to me,
this little beating thing
all clean and whole was he.
as you drew closer
to take in your hand
this little beating thing,
it beated faster and faster
with each departing step
until finally it beated and beated
and beated until it beated to death.
But you cared for it
nuturing it back to health
allowing it to beat once more.
once again giving life
to this precious thing of mine
that I gave so willingly
to only those who mean the most to me
will ever be entrusted to bear
the charge of safe keeping it
from harm and despair .
Oh, but sad to say,
that once you made it whole,
you promptly gave it back to me
saying, no, no, no!
it cannot be the time
for you to be handing out such things
to people you don't know so well
regardless of your feelings now.
And, so you gave it back to me
beating in your hand
I saw it quiver and quiver more
trying to never beat again.
Now, this little beating thing
that I so long ago removed,
so willingly gave to you,
returns to that hole
from which it was taken from
beating less than it did before,
bearing a scar that reminds
the terror of stepping towards
the one it may have loved
for eternity through and through.
And with the little beating thing
all bruised and broken inside,
it waits for the brighter day
when wounds heal and tears dry,
but realizing that
wounds created this way
heal crooked through and through.
it was broken for too long,
and time is not so kind.
With a chip off its shoulder
and scar in between
it walks the streets bitter
at all the hearts shared among
the people during spring time
when love just waits to be seen.
And though it may never meet
another heart in which to love,
it will continue beating,
that little beating thing
until it meets that perfect one
to wipe away those scars
and make the little beating thing
once again clean and whole
to live the life it was meant to live
two hearts, one soul.
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