The heart; the merciless dictator


The heart;
The orchestrator, the curator,
The beater, the drummer,
The hummer, the plumber,
The cheater, the fleeter,
The reverberator, the perpetrator
The instigator, the insinuator,
The hater, the traitor
The heart; the merciless dictator

What will you do when it stops?
Perhaps it is not a bad thing that it stops.
Did you know that it is the first thing created in a human being, before the brain even, before your nervous system. But how? Doesn’t the nervous system control the heart? Isn’t the brain the control centre for everything?
If that were the case, the brain would be created first, but it is not.
That is a scientific fact. Impossible to contest, yet scientists still detest, they protest, they fight their souls, with God digress.
So there it is, the first thing created, in the belly of the mother, and there it nestles for nine months, countless beats comforting it.
The dee-dum, dee-dum
perpetual drum,
the soothing hum,
is the tongue,
of its communication,
with mum,
of life’s elixir sung,
of the last trumpet blown,

the last bell rung.
When the soul is torn,
the body is flung,
six foot soil bath,
mixed with dung.
Hope your deeds are there,
for flowers sprung.
On your grave top,
to reach the sun.

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