Map of the Heart

Time carves craters in my heart, leaving deep and dark the abyss of knowing and comprehending the passion and pleasure of love.

Left before me on the mountain tops are cold and brittle reminders, perfectly mummified, plainly visible recollections of doors slammed, love lost.

Dusty and worn, the map of the heart kept in mothball trunk under lock,as three dimensional as the Pieta but with markings of chisel and hammer.

Who or what will intervene with finishing tools and key in handto take the unfinished and worn piece to make beauty from the deluge.

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