Broken heart

What is this a heaviness in my heart, the slow turning weight aching gently within.

Its wicked fingers reach deep into my soul and pluck out the small diamonds of joy.

Hope becomes entangled within threads of unease. What is my mind trying to say – the whispers are too soft.

If only the rumbling and roaring of the oncoming storm would quieten.

The clouds are gathering, their black malevolence crouching behind happy green hills, the walls cannot hold them back.

Build the walls higher, make them three feet thick and ten feet high

Make them from granite and lead and lace them with razors.

Guard them with demons and let the vultures sit atop their mighty walls and laugh at who dares knock.

We can be safe inside now.

Maybe empty and alone is a poor substitute for the pendulum and mayhem, but rice feeds the poor just as does cake