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In the silence of its hanging tomb,
the stalwart heart continues
to beat its rhythms of love’s symphony;
Starving head-lobes devour soundless
ringing, infusing vibrating bloating
as pangs of hunger does an empty belly;
Silence void of serenity is as useless
as space void of any cosmic purpose;
what worth is there in vacuous existence?
Smoke that has lost its self from its fire
need not be an aimless wanderer;
at its source await the warm embers thereof;
Though self-sustaining, love, true to its self,
remains self-sustaining, but humbles its self
with the need for external combustions:
May the flintstones of our hearts
once again rub shoulder to shoulder
reigniting the sparking echoes of our love fire.
