The heart is a wild thing

The beating of  a heart is waves washing on a shore.

 It is a place of shadows where the Faerie live,
       a grand ballroom in an empty house,
a cry in the night when you feel the breaking of it
      like glass in a hurricane.

We think we can tame it but the
      heart is a wild thing.
It soars, it sinks, it carries all the hellos
      and goodbyes in a lifetime within it
and they make it a thing that can't be controlled.


The strength we struggle to find can become a battle---
     swords ringing out in the night,
fires lighting the faces of soldiers who know
    they may not win the fight.


The heart is a wild thing.
It beats like a drum,
  it urges some forward,
it destroys some.


 We find our love in there,
    we find our hate,
the many rooms within hold all that is good,
   all that is evil,
all that is ours and theirs and yours---
    the coldness and the warmth.


Sometimes we need to just put the heart
     up where we can't reach it for awhile.
High up in the cupboard, way up in the clouds,
    on the backs of eagle's wings. 

And when we are ready we take it down,
    dust it off and shine it up,
ready to try again----
   to make the walk off that high cliff,
to fall where we land or touch the sun.

H.rose.