In the bizzare realm of destabilization
Only the heart is clear despite changes,
Its beat regular in defiance of all wishes,
To be dying of boredom, dying of humiliation,
Dying to the point of irregularity, dying of
Thwarted ambition, easily, cosily dying of
Trepidation, of exhaustion, of despair.
To be dead is a stillness the heart can only
Dream of, trapped in mechanical motion,
A rest emotions can count on, similar to the
Restful act of looking at a clear pond
Rippling, water lilies floating or looking as
Though they are unrooted, that unrooted,
And forgetting the body in that reflection,
The dim negative of an image that has been
Transferred to a fish pond which has been
Touched by the sky and the sun, blessed by
Silence. At least nominal silence relative to
The calls of birds and wavelets, the
Occasional chattering of squirrels.
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