by Lara Thorne
Will not my heart tick a timely beat?
It bloats and quickens, buoyonting,
bobbing just below the surface,
submerged in salty sea.
My heart is not held in a measure of time,
it seeks more than what I now do have,
with no recourse to opportunity or patience,
considering only and wholly it’s desires.
It cares not for a stable passage,
to be clasped close in a caring cage.
Rather it distorts my docile body,
and fills me with a rousing rage.
I cannot function without my heart,
go about my business day to day.
So I have to leave bobbing,
I can’t bear to take its buoyancy away.