Friday, November 25, 2016

8896. ONLY THE GOLDEN HEART

ONLY THE 
GOLDEN HEART
Not near this extinction, the big bird
flies  -  it's living on long, long after
me. I am but a memory, so long away.
Out here, a few weeds make their motion
under sky and over land. Here we are, 
then, for long and for forever. Like
Thomas Hardy -  who ended up ashes
in Poet's Corner, with his heart
buried elsewhere  -  I too am 
missing vital things. I am
the broken sun. Only my
golden heart remains.

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