There is no present future for the heart,
Sadness and love seldom (if ever) part.
Locked in different, tiny chambers lie
Pride, Love, Hope, Anger and Jealousy.
Each cannot hear the others tears
And there is a slow build-up of fears
Blood is the only messenger here,
Which deals with its own diseases drear.
Love wails, Pride stomps its hoof,
Jealousy burns and Anger lashes the roof!
Hope prays and struggles to live
And the hearts lost What to take? What should give?
It has got to breathe. It has got to beat.
Muster some will while giving body heat.
If only you knew, poor, poor, little heart,
When the end and why to even start.
29th January, 2003.