Half a heart

Life flourishes to grow

Slightly diminished if one doesn’t know.

Day by day, a child will play

And remnants of innocence will with him stay.

Pieces of the heart that once was whole

As immense and ample

But she only remains with a sample

As fleeting and fragile as the world is old.

At first she is blissfully ignorant

Then the void becomes gaping and blatant

The search begins, seemingly leisurely

But he’s actually rummaging desperately.

Where is it?

What is it?

He knows not.

She can’t guess.

 

That part of the heart that she searches for in art.

The missing piece absent from the dregs of the wine of solace and peace.

Joyless hugs, powerless drugs, hapless dugs and humourless thugs

Flavourless flings and soulless things

Clam chowder, white powder,

Shaking trees that do not bear

To see if one can see, think, feel or hear

The evasive half.

 

It must be in my imagination, that almost inaudible mocking laugh…

 

They suffer and pine

Until they divine

That it is not out there

But in here.

 

Louella Mahabir

20th. August

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~ by louella001 on August 20, 2016.

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