Ruled by the heart

What a life is this?

No comfort, no rest,

Everything amiss.

Even amidst beauty

It revels in despair

Even in enjoyment

Clothed in sadness.

This heart of mine

This thudding companion

How it makes my living

An episode of tragedy.

This heart of mine

This companion of life

How it keeps me busy in

A battle against myself.

At conflict with things

Not cut-out to fit in

With the mass of humanity.

Is always restless

Like ranting to be free.

Ready to love intuitively

But too keen to be fooled with

And wise enough to see

The true and the false.

Not ready for deception

By frivolous souls

Wishing nothing more than

Time-passing joy-seeking.

Agonizingly over-sensitive

Bleeding incessantly

In the stretches of the dark

And looming, lonely nights.

Craving for true womanly love

And always cheated craftily

By those skilled in guile.

Ah, what a sad companion I have!

Who rules me powerfully

Giving me less of joy

And more of misery.

Not happy anywhere

Not content with many things

Wanting its own style

In the ambit of events.

Scoffing at falsehood

And disdainfully mocking

At the charlatans of love.

Not tuned ith the whims

Of the vain and the capricious.

Always searching itself

And its purpose of rhythms

And the form that embellishes

My hidden human soul.

Ah, what a companion

This heart of mine is!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Posted on March 15, 2010.

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palewingedpoetess's picture


I highly suspect that
a heart such as yours
is cunning with its view
yet ultra pure of feeling
quite stronger than steel
but lovelier than oak
do not doubt nor
question such a gifted
a man's heart is his
license for good
whether he uses it
or not
in his deeper most self
that ability is there
the ability to love
and see through
the selfishness
that others set out
in the world
like garbage on the sidewalk
and call that their best
I say walk passed that garbage
shove it aside
or barrel right through it
to the truth
no matter what you fear
you may find
few have the guts
in their deepest selves
to reveal to the world
the harsh beauty
that is their hidden scars
that's the kind of heart
though that
you , the poet
you, the man
you, the devout lover of God
no doubt circles my words
the truth of what I share
is too bright
to let such shadows of question
that you have
sit even for a moment
at their farthest fringe
we become the goodness
that God creates us to be
from birth unto death
we bloom
out growing our scars
as we become
more and more free..........
(Jan. 30, 2011 1104pm)