What’s our heart made of?
Tender flesh soft and gentle,
Feels the pain that’s all around,
Cries at hurts, wrongs and injustice,
Bleeds with every tortured soul.
Or slowly hardened by life’s cruelty,
Fatigued by constant repeated ills,
To the point it beats no longer
And turns to granite cold and still.
Copyright © 2009 Victor S E Moubarak