traveler

there was a traveler
who wrapped his swollen heart
in an old rag and set it down
beside the road.
he stood a moment and looked
upon this sodden bundle in the dirt,
both relief and regret
in his posture.

he then resumed his journey
and with a noticeably lighter step,
though he could no longer call to mind
his destination.

waking

in dream
with crushing weight of vision
she stood
knife in hand
before a towering wall of flesh
she knew to be her heart

every part of it carved
in weeping red
desperate letters
blazing bleeding welts
pleading pain
and blood
in urgent warning

resolve stilled the corners
of her quivering mouth
as understanding
settled

waking
shaking sleep
struggling to breathe
against the gravity of the dream
still heavy in her chest
she wonders at such a gift
of clarity and wisdom

but a sudden cold
clench of despair
brings hot tears
and a breathless cry
dies in her throat

she cannot recall
a single word

this I know

despite the facts
or lack thereof,

the
deeper
Truth

reveals
itself

to an open heart
when sought

and
sometimes

when
not.

after all

the dead don’t always sleep.

no, sometimes we dance
and sing
and laugh
and love.

yes, we love
and we dream our dreams
of tomorrows
that never come.

but what does this mean
or matter to you?

we are dead

after all.