Let the Heart Go

Hearts speak truly, whisper's of their own. Desire among  the grot's and limbs where love, is always done. Since day's began, in that beginning, gleaned...felt faintly, that aetheric fondle, fiddling some rare bird, of lips, blown sweetly on an ancient's bone. 

All hearts know this thing, that body is aware...for heart and hard, were never, by so many...moved, those tokens, brought us here. Yet men, who will not hold, arousal's need, deny to all, and everything, their rigid right's...relief, of parts have gone to stone. 

But they, themselves, abed at night, in dark, proscribe...while fondling their flag, to gasps of...God! and gag, and leering leisure's, peeper's always use to bring the load to head, and...gush! Then close, the blasted link...to scurry off to sleep. Why? Why hide such a beautiful thing? Why hide the need? Why punish the need? 

Why can't men be, fine, fully flown...free birds, that all humanity, aspire...those gifts were given to each one? Why must, the twig, the knot...a lover's fully understanding heart, be hushed...to hide the need, to give and take, to kiss and suck; to lick, pursuant to our joy, right there...in open air, both day and night...without a judge, or rules..aside from rolling in the rush of lust and laughter?

What is wrong with man, that everything of joy be cursed, and rather be severe, defined as devils if you love, or evil if you lust? Why is this garden of desire, not given freedom to fulfill itself in us? It's all here...now. Needs we then, mistrust, or simply learn to see ourselves...in one another's arms? Would we then, lose grace...that struggle civilized, or are we civilized...at all?

Perhaps, if we embrace, what we deny ourselves...our hearts could find the way, to Paradise.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art; Pan, faun and satyr, google art