If the heart were a piece of fabric
The mind could have worn,
And if it were torn,
There would be just a million pieces.

Pieces that could patch up
In a multicolour quilt,
And wrap the dreams I built,
Carefully, in its soft folds and creases.

But that, the heart is not.
It cannot think and behave,
It cannot wrap and save
The painful sense of cold logic.

Instead, it misses the point.
It opens, charges, then falters,
Yet the sorrow never alters
Its deep belief in magic.

A hundred blows it deals with
As feelings lay disbanded
And it comes back empty handed,
For caution’s gone for a toss

And yet it lives and loves
With all the faith and strength
Across life’s dicey length
Despite a wrecking loss.

For it sees not what’s to happen
It simply falls and feels
And eventually, time heals
With a dose of pure reality.

If the heart were a piece of fabric
The colours could have matched
And it would have been patched
To soothe for eternity.


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