To Have A Heart

By Nicholas Dante Failla

I want to tell you 

How my heart was once a garden 

That held a desire so human and so bold, A yearning to grow beyond its compunction With a longing to be known 

It bloomed understanding through pain And endured loss that wilted the flowers That would grow once more 

In an array of colours 

Sheltered by green canopies 

And warmed by golden sunlight 

That streamed through rooted veins. It drew visitors from across this divine plane Who gazed in awe at its splendor 

Some trampled the flowerbeds 

Or pruned the weeds with great curiosity.

Some even planted new seeds 

And watered its soil patiently, 

Waiting in the resplendence 

Of the stone-valve archways 

For trees whose branches bore new leaves. Its chamber was once a chalice 

Where passion whirled like wine Pressed upon the soft lips of the earth Until my veins erupted with fervour Exuding upon those I knew 

And seducing even strangers, 

Who bathed in its warmth. 

Yet it kept whirling, 

For I created a world within my body Where the soul etched forgivings

Upon its walls. 

But lately, to have a heart 

Is to awaken every morning baptised in blood To endure the day, impervious to the wound And survive the night gasping in its absence. Its halls echo with the ghosts of laughter The garden, a mere memory 

The chalice, emptied 

Hollow as bone.

By Nicholas Dante Failla