Posted in Skin Poetry, Surge

Paper Thin

Sometimes, my heart is paper thin, easibly rippable

Consciously edible at the edges where life has frayed.

Hold my heart up to the light

See? There; a tear where a spike has pushed through,

Torn in two my fragile sensibility.

 

Sometimes, my heart is tough and strong

No words, however long, can break through this impenetrable wall

Of  solid, steadfast love.

Love that doesn’t call the shots, or plots

Against, or rails in disdain.

 

Sometimes, my heart is flexible

Fillable, with no constraints but a constant

Heartbeat, drum beat, skip to the beat

Dancing without fear of being shunned,

Never worrying about being number one

But giving without any need of payment, of any kind.

 

Sometimes my heart is sore;

It aches, and with every movement,

Pain fills the veins, and, with endless pulses,

Shoots fear and overwhelming anxiety into every cavity.

No desire to heal but to hurt, and hurt again, with

Constant put downs, rebukes, and history.

 

Sometimes, my heart is all four of the above.

One day strong, then flexible, sore, paper thin;

The din and shouting of the world makes me recoil,

Makes my blood boil as the spoils of crime against humanity

Rip paper thin hearts, leaving nothing but dust,

Leaving nothing but bricks and mortar

When have to sort, wade through, like treacle,

This abysmal mess that we have made, and, with a tirade,

We scream, we cry, we mourn the endless death and destruction.

 

But sometimes, my heart is a rally cry

That pushes me to say, to demonstrate all the love enclosed

In this beating heart.

My heart says “Stand up! Stand & be counted! Shout me loud and strong,

Sing my beloved song of hope and freedom

Against the hearts of stone, the cold, the unmoveable

Whose every move is to make them unnaccountable

Not doubtable, for all the slander, the hatred, that pits man against man

In this unforgiving sea of despair, no care but for themselves,

When so many, so many hearts are paper thin, rustling in the air,

Hung out to dry, no goodbye, but a shut door”

 

 

Yes, my heart may be paper thin;

It may be sore

But it is also tough, strong, flexible.

I’ll cleave no more to that which makes me disenchanted,

I’ll weave my heart strings with those whose love, whose colour for life

Is indescribably irridescent with beauty.

 

Let the sometimes be the all times.

Let the paper thin and sore be markers for how far we have travelled.

Let the flexibility of our hearts encase the fragile souls.

Let the tough, strong beats sound out, pound out, never be afraid to speak out.

Let the sometimes be the all times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Author:

There's always stuff in life we're not sure of. I'm thankful , and eternally grateful, to have a love for God. Yes, I've put my life, my family, my everyday existence, into God's more than capable hands. Some would say I'm mad, some would pooh pooh the idea... As General Melchett once remarked in Blackadder Goes Forth.."You know, if there's one thing I've learnt from being in the Army, it's never ignore a pooh-pooh. I knew a Major, who got pooh-poohed, made the mistake of ignoring the pooh-pooh. He pooh-poohed it! Fatal error! 'Cos it turned out all along that the soldier who pooh-poohed him had been pooh-poohing a lot of other officers who pooh-poohed their pooh-poohs. In the end, we had to disband the regiment. Morale totally destroyed... by pooh-pooh!" So, have a read, have a think. I don't have all the answers, but I know a man who has ;-)

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