I am worried about my heart
I worry about my heart.
Not the ticking,
The ticking,
The tick, tick, ticking
But the breaking,
The breaking,
The break, break, breaking
Like glass
Cracking
It stays out there,
I hold it in my hand...
You? Do you? Do you want it?
I ask?
How about you? Do you? Do you want it?
I ask again.
I worry about my heart.
At 51, I am "still" worried about my heart. What made me think being older would be easier?
This poem hit home: the tick, tick, ticking of my heart. I, selfishly perhaps would like to this poem expanded, perhaps expanded beyond paper and lifted into the realm of words and music...
Some clever wording here. Very nice.