Hearts bleed.

Call me

a bleeding heart,

it’s true:

my heart bleeds.

It is not made of


nor even of


that it takes much

to melt…


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,


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 bleed…?

we are not made

of stone.

september 2010


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