My heart needs a home,
I’ve tried fitting it on bookshelves among fantasy novels and
but for some reason,
JRR Tolkein wouldn’t let me in between him and Danielle Steele,
I’ve tried placing it by my stereo;
in front of the speaker;
next to my well-ranged arsenal of music which has taken me years to
But after a while,
I noticed that Hard Rock would cause my heart to turn to stone,
Hip Hop would cause it to turn black at every curse,
Electronic music would cause it to break down into fine pieces of
the deep melancholy sounds of the bass guitar
would manifest as wind from the sub woofer;
blowing it away.
I’ve tried dipping it into a mug of beer or soaking it in hard
but time and time again; it would dissolve into the liquid
and I’d lose it.
The bartender would mistake it for a Bloody Mary,
mix it up,
and serve it to the next girl who wouldn’t gulp it all down at
but take little sips in between conversations
in order to savor it.
Sometimes I’d be tempted to believe that she’s well aware of what
Every sip hurts my chest.
I would roll it around in white powder hoping to create some sort of
but the chemical in the drug would eat away the surface;
leaving it disfigured and more fragile than ever.
I had tried planting it into the ground among the cannabis plants
to see if something would grow out of it,
But when I had returned to dig it up,
I had found that the roots of the surrounding plants
had drained the life out of the core;
turning it into shell.
When I cracked it open, it was hollow.
I’ve tried placing it in the bosom of beautiful women,
which seemed like the right place at the time,
until each one used the pointy, polished finger nail
of her long, slender, finger
to pierce the center of it;
causing it to ooze blood.
I’ve tried placing it into the hands of those I trusted,
but the hands of the strong would squeeze too tightly,
the hands of the weak would keep dropping it,
the hands of the unreliable would leave it in dark places and forget
the hands of the cruel would throw it as far as they could, like a
the hands of the hurtful would immediately hand it right back to me,
and the hands of the clean would never touch it at all.
Then I placed it into the hands of my Creator,
the One who spent ages coming up with its design,
the One who calculated every measurement to the finest detail,
the One who made countless rough drafts in order to attain
the One who is waiting for His masterpiece to
willingly be placed back into His gentle, cupped hands…..
When I did,
it fit perfectly,
and glowed a bright red,
as if it were smiling.
It started singing quietly;
the most beautiful melody I’ve ever heard.
It has remained there ever since,
and will remain there forever.
Visit Jeremiah’s website at http://psalmsandpsychoses.com.
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