Opened and beat less on the desk,
Power and presence moved from the chest.
Blood all dried, now cease to run
Like milk curdled by the boiling sun.
Fat and waste all cleared away
Exposed, washed clean and left to air.
New again but in decay
As veins collapse and waste away.
Cold and bare, unique and rare
Holding secrets only hearts can hear,
Like how it loved with fearless care, how it pained and took the dare
And how it swelled within the chest often tugging on the breast.
A heart of love, of veins, of flesh – pumping, working without rest.
In the end it gives away; to love, to pain or sweet decay.
And as it was from man was made, even to its final day,
A heart of love so rich and pure, that memories last forever more.