Hearts bleed.

Call me a bleeding heart.

It’s true: My heart bleeds.


It is not made of stone,

nor even of ice,

that it takes much to melt.


Misery will do.

And the misery of others

is the misery of all.


As we dog paddle to keep our

heads above the water, and

we step on someone else’s

head so we can stay on top,

we try so hard not to

look behind us, or to the side…


And now our minds are in

a virtual movie, trapped

in little boxes, far far from our hearts…

and our hearts get harder

to hear, and we don’t

remember our hearts,

so how can our hearts



We are not made of stone.

september 2010

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