Poems Don't Have to Rhyme

Heart In a Hole

In a hole in the ground there lived

my heart.

Wrapped up in a sack

of coarse brown cloth

it beat against the binds

that held it.

It pounded at dirt and clay, transmitting

its defiance through the stethoscope of earth

but no one came.

Not even the mole kings of the subterranea.

Long it fought, thudding so strongly

but eventually it grew tired and slow.

It knew not why it kept on beating

or what it was fighting for.

Until a bolt of lightning, white as ivory

veined down from the dreary sky, and struck true

this heart of mine, throbbing anew,

and the body around it, too.