Poetry

Written Date: September 21, 2006

Pulse

There is complete silence;
No movement, no disturbance in the air, as the beating drum of life thumps once, twice, then thrice;
In each being rests a pulse, which motivates the body to progress;
This is the pulse, which drives humanity.

Heartbeat remains constant with each breath;
I inhale, receiving the agony of the world around;
Exhaling, I release the joy, which once saturated my soul;
I become invigorated with my curse.

This heart of mine suffers with each breath;
Like daggers, it pierces through each nerve and tissue;
My emotions stream though my mind with anguish as birth.

Not much left for this patched up life inducer;
There shall be no more trials and brokenness to severe to endure;
This is the last beat, as the life within becomes still.