Vintage Poetry: Doom of the Kind Heart

It gives gives gives,
'till it bleeds bleeds bleeds
but never for itself
the life it pumps is
sucked out by all passersby
and breathed into "love" and
relationships later to be deemed,
unhealthy, destructive, useless, condemned

It gets battered, beaten
and a dozen times broken
by those promising to hold & cherish it
as if it only knew truer lies spoken
if it'd just keep its eyes open
instead of lying in wait, wishing, hoping

But it cannot see,
it cannot leave,
it cannot run,
it cannot breathe,
but simply want want want
and need need need
and care care care
and bleed bleed bleed

reaching for arms with a familiar warmth
feeling the sting of the familiar wrath
leaving it sullen, shaken,
cold, hard, blackened in aftermath
only to be warmed back up
full of doomed life
despite its penetrable fortifications
and its false strength

such domestic violence
goes unchecked
or unseen at all
for who truly knows its pain
as the casualty of a war
that caught it in passionate crossfire
yet it embraces its death
with wreckless naivete
with each new invader
as its selflessness pours constantly
without stopping to ask,
"why must you kill the kind heart?"

full of scrapes, sores, holes,
infested with disease,
refurbished with each new tenant
only to be raped and vandalized,
hasn't it suffered enough?

Rightly so, kill the kind heart
with its insufferable silent suffering,
its meticulous melancholy,
its festering friendships,
its loathed love,
for with its death the body may live,
breathe
see

without the kind heart,
the mind & body are free

So here it lies
from its timely demise
no longer open to be victimized
no more tears to cry
with its nonexistent gauged eyes
yet still it bleeds

bleeds for all those nights of passion
bleeds for ever trusting
bleeds for blissful ignorance
bleeds for neglected and abandoned omnipotence
and with its last drop of blood
prays for compassion and forgiveness




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