The heart in shreds is supposed dead,
yet one heart lives. He wails for the one whose blade -
in blustery, base abandon - tears and shreds
its prey. Here Heart lies leaking, a faint disgrace
whose cause is gone; whose face in icy bed
consigned to die in pieces; beats to rain
his warmth, to melt the glacier he once wed -
whose doom in frigid tomb knows naught but rage.

Memories live as smeared sketches when scratched
by lying eyes in wishful bliss unchecked:
and hope need see that hope in thee, O mirage,

is none indeed; but senseless sobbings smashed.
So beat on, Heart! Arise from twisted wreck
and sing your love to one whose heart glows hot.