My Heart

My heart is but a fishing bobber:Pallid and crimson, split in color.When casted from pole, to sea, or lakeor pond, perhaps. Floating uneasy atop the drift, To billow in ripple; bobbing over forgotten wakes. To reel it in would be a lost causeBecause one would save a thing if it were drowningBut for what? For what?To saveContinue reading “My Heart”