poetry & things

Heart surgery

I am delirious, lingering from days

frayed at both ends, especially the head

and knotted in the middle, a rope tightened

round the heart, squeezing beats out

in stops and starts, oh but this how

we play the game, it’s sweaty palmed,

brow furrowed fun, with far too many clocks

cold halls to walk, amongst holy ghosts

tearing through white sheeted rooms, they haunt

or sometimes they bring invisible healing

placing flowers in colorful rings

and garlands circling round the bed

and in the night, only blue white light

to fill a room, basked in love

a tattered heart to mend

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