the little Heart

The little Heart

floating merrily around.

The little Heart,

it chanced upon a glass house,

gleaming among the rest.

The little Heart,

it was taken

by the strong fundamentals

and the solid foundation

of the Glass House.

The little Heart,

it floated into the Glass House,

making it its home.

Merrily pumping O2 into the house,

the little Heart did.

Little by little, bit by the bit,

a glass ceiling grew over the top.

Over at its corner

- growing smaller and dimmer by the moons -

the little Heart pumped O2

earnestly and chirpily,

so that the Glass House would be well-breathed.

Pumped and pumped,

even expanding the Glass House estate somewhat

with the powerful O2,

did the little Heart.

But little did the little Heart know,

other hearts pumping O2

for their own jumps over the glass ceiling.

The Glass House, so invitingly strong,

yet so biased in its sunlight distribution.

The little Heart,

it bled within

when it finally saw the glass ceiling.

The little Heart,

it went on pumping O2 merrily

though it be laden like lead.

When all was quiet,

it let itself sink

to the floor,

little teardrops, laced with blood,

dripped...

If in the silence of the night, you hear the drip drip of water, you know it's the little Heart, hurt and sad, bleeding away.