heart

Becoming Confucius

a torn

crimson piece of flesh

bleeding massively but soft still

and you continuously try mending it

for years

without knowing that

every stitch makes a new hole

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About rixlibris

Retired from child care photography after thirty years of coaxing smiles and wiping noses. Currently venting years of repressed fictional story lines via self-published novels. Married and still alive in a remote corner of Waller County, Texas.
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One Response to heart

  1. “every stitch makes a new hole”
    I listen to the speech of blood flow in this poem. to fix something that is broken is magic and the reason why hundreds of loneliness persist. I’m not saying that wounds are incurable and irrecoverable – one can find a way, for example, to beautify loneliness or cure wounds by willpower and perseverance, well, it would be a step of a poor mortal towards mighty gods. but wounds are fire that flows and it is a task worthy of Hercules. The verse that I set aside is ambivalent in my mode of thinking and, therefore I find it elusive.
    To fix something that is broken – it is the task of the Heart.

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