:::Oh Beating Heart:::I don’t care what you say.
A poem has a heart.
Physical form is the paper it is written on.
The ears are those who listen to it’s deeper voice.
The eyes are those who read the fine words that it brings.
The nose is for those who smell the beauty in those words.
The hair is the gentleness of the formed sentence.
The face is that of which no one can see.
The body is the way the writer fixes it and treats it with care.
The arms are the length of the poem, be it long or short.
The legs are the height of its popularity.
Its feet are the base of which it stands.
The hands are those of the writer that writes it down as it comes.
The soul… The sweet soul is that of which it is set to prove.
And then the heart,
Oh sweet beating heart.
This is the way it was formed,
The reason behind all reasoning.
It’s the heart of the writer
And the sweet words that fit on the paper.
It is the one thing we all overlook,
It is the ones being touched
By the writers sweet words.
