My heart, it breaks
in tiny ways the blood cannot get in to seal.
So it remains in crazy cracks, all over pain
makes mute appeal
- and all that it can feel is ache. The only thing
that could fuse back and cauterize the miniscule,
but deep-sunk wounds that torture me -
is if some one could come along
with lightning-crack, with back-to-life,
and make of me
a greater fool.
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years. Try the RANDOM button to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.
*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.