Relentless Heart

The sound of someone

with tiny fists

gently knocking on the door

in the dead of night,

relentlessly knocking…

 

The gentle draft

that creeps in from underneath

the space between the door

and the ground,

unseen, unfelt

but for the sudden chill…

 

The full moon that shines brightly

yet makes no gallant claim

for your attention of its presence;

it positions itself behind the darkness

but casts a subtle light…

 

The relentless heart;

inviolate of the cuts and scars of truth,

soldiers on after the mind and body

has surrendered.

A solitary form on a long and lonely road,

dust in its shoes,

a heavy weight on its back,

and eyes directed ever forward:

no mountain too high,

no canyon too deep,

no distance too far.

 

 

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