It can be hard to tell what kind of pain or damage
has been seen, and felt, by the human heart.
It must have scars, bruises or even burns-
perhaps from flying too close to the sun,
but more likely they happened at the hands
of another. But it still beats, lives.
Sometimes I think that as people our lives
only exist for one reason: they are built for damage.
But when facing the worst, often our hands
are the part being sent through walls. The heart
never really breaks. It only feels like the sun
could never have enough heat to cause those burns.
A solar flare licks its flame, burns
and smolders, wrapping it’s tongue around lives
in lands of loveless cold. Warmer than sun
though, is the care before the damage.
The height of the degree depends on how much heart
is put into the fight, and how much degradation the hands
Of time have caused. Wrinkled hands
feel the smoothest when they tend to the burns
of the newly wounded. The aging, aching heart
that comes with them has beat in the lives
of many. They have felt the damage,
but also have inflicted it. The setting sun
Of every day changes the shadow cast on the soul. Sun
can reach through the cracks and grasp the hands
of the slipping, preventing them from damage
that the rocks below may cause, and the burns
they will feel as they plummet into hell. Our lives
all circle around avoiding that fiery place, but each heart
Has been there. The core of the earth, Mother Nature’s heart
is molten, yet it has dark having never seen the light of the sun.
Like plants, we bend against the panes of windows, our lives
Dependent on the energy we absorb through light. Our hands
stretch toward the sky, fingertips ignoring the burns,
The lines and the spots. All sun damage.
The light in our lives consumes the hope in our heart,
but we cannot escape the damage in the absence of sun,
just instead clench our hands, and ignore the burns.