All the broken hearts in the world still beat.
A stunning lyric
In a pop song
For a man
In his fifties
Searching, searching
His whole life
To be home
In the arms of another.
Renting, only renting
For a few years
Or less
But not anymore.
Drifting, drifting
Never stopping
No interest,
Either direction on that two-way street
Thinking he’ll never find his picket fence.
All the broken hearts in the world still beat.
But he still lives
His heart still beats
Sadly beating,
Weakly beating,
But beating still.
Shakespeare, Milton, Byron
Not for them.
Their voices silent.
Their poems completed.
Life is too short.
It was for them.
It was for others
Whom I miss so much.
Whom I’ll never see again.
But I can smell the coffee.
And it is time to wake up and do so!
I can taste a ripe, ripe summer’s peach,
Juices drip as I break the skin
Feel the sweet liquid run
Down my chin
Until I wipe it
With the back of my hand.
The stickiness remains,
That joyous, beautiful stickiness.
All the broken hearts in the world still beat.
Find Beauty.
Find Peace.
Find Love
And Forgiveness.
Listen to the laughter of children, unspoiled, uncynical.
Rejoice in the stories of the old as they tell of victories and disasters from long ago.
They won’t be able to tell those stories much longer.
Their voices less clear.
And softer as the past rushes from us.
And soon like them,
Our passing fancies will all have passed.
All the broken hearts in the world still beat.
Even in our darkest times,
We are still alive.
We have only a moment.
This moment.
To live and love.
To be happy.