by Nohrie

Created on: April 08, 2010

My heart of heart harkens

to my four year old heart.

Four years, four parts,

for that is the division

of the heart itself,

in its creation

and at its most vivid:

in its flowing of blood,

its pumping of love,

fury

and joy.

It did these things then,

with no projection

and no rejection.

Now, it is torn, worn,

and still,

as that of some

preserve,

in a jar.

And my heart of hearts,

 At four,

is very,

very

far.

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