A Broken Heart
A broken heart is heavier than lead
In eighteen wheelers Jupiter attacked
By gravity. A broken heart will head
From sunny strolls to pits of snakes, when backed
By thoughts of love like lobsters boiled in pots,
A-squirm for life that suddenly went numb.
A broken heart will run on breathless plots
Of ponzi schemes, a soured chance to thumb
A nose at chance, to fill a void with void.
A broken heart will fight with shadows cast
By puppets, characterizing those joyed
Affections lingering to hold the past.
[WARNING: I wrote the following concluding couplet to try and add a happier resolution to the matter, but having just now taken my own advice, I find that it’s basically bullshit. (This is probably attributable to my singular inability to have any kind of lasting, meaningful, affection for anyone. I attribute this to my genes or environmental factors, but I’m sure the victims of my so-called ‘affections’ would probably term this to be the case of my being a ‘cowardly ass-hole,’ unwilling to commit to anything of worth. (I should note that I’m not altogether unconvinced by their sentiments, but that I would attribute my own ‘ass-hole cowardice’ to geneological and environmental factors… A reductio ad absurdum: you provide the reductio; I’ll more than happily provide the absurdum.) Like Washington, I now have similar reservations about love: “it is not reason, it is not eloquence; it is force.” (Even though I know it’s not.)]
But even broken hearts can mend with time,
A beer, a friend, or just a clever rhyme.