Sung of Trusting Hearts

Who do you trust with your heartbeat,

Your friend, your husband, your wife,

The one by your side, do you let them inside 

To caress and keep beats of your life.

Is their touch the soft hand of an angel,

The firm but the gentle with heart,

Can you trust that their love will secure it

And keep it from stopping with start.

Do their fingers pulse to your heartstrings

And strum all your worries away,

Kept alive by the touch of another

With heart massag’d lovingly each day.

So who do you trust with your heartbeats,

Be it woman or man of your choice,

Be it child or a friend or a lover,

Let them play you with touch of their voice

For the touch of an angel is spoken

In the words that fall from their lips,

Their blessing sustains all hearts broken

But, more, they protect it from this.

This feels like a song, it sounds like a song to me. The music is optional. Your own tune fits just as well as mine.

 

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15 thoughts on “Sung of Trusting Hearts”

  1. That is a keeper momus. Very beautifully ewritten my friend. (Now how is that for a Freudian slip, I accidently put the e before written, as in ebook I think. Maybe you are going to create another electronic term of writing. Momus, the ewriter of verse 🙂 )
    Definitely for a future book 😀

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    1. You do my heart good, Mark. And my confidence. If necessity is the mother of invention then procrastinaion and abomination spring to mind when editing is involved. I’d sooner put together an ebook, ewritten, ewhatever of poems than attempt to disentangle plot, theme, characters, whateverthefucks from my own prose. Why the feck did I ever say I’d do this? Why the feck did I ever do Naonbastardwrimo? I’m not an author of books. I just have really good ideas that fit poetry. I like to think. But, I’m stuck with the book. Stuck with a capital F. I’ve got tons going on here – procrastination. I despair when I start – abomination. I want to do it but – frustration.
      See! I can’t even write without trying to find a fecking rhyme. No! They find me! Do you think maybe I should distil the essence of the book and make it an epic poem? Fuck! I think that might work. I might be able to do this. Maybe. Tomorrow. After tonight. After everything else that’s going on. Eh? Maybe?

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      1. Stop that or there will be no wine left in the house, let alone the bottle 🙂
        Your allowing it to control you. Stop. You’ve enjoyed it up till this point…why?
        Go back and feel the excitement of starting out…I bet the writing was pouring out.
        Like my comment on your other post ‘Simply Known’, just breeeeeathe and be you 🙂

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      2. I really love you! Bugger the wine. All can be fine. I think I know where I’m going now. The message matters more than the construct. It matters, of course, but the story is there already. It was there when the first words came pouring out and all the way through November. It is me that’s stopping my own flow. Did I say I love you? Take that as ad infinitum. That’s some gift you’ve got going on, btw. I feel energised. Ehealing. There’s a thought. 🙂 x

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