As there is depth to the ocean
There is an infinite calling to my heart:
The variety of sparks flying
Tragically evolve from one
To many
To all-consuming.
These sparks may be wings
(Sudden flutter of wings) ,
Sad large brown eyes
Of cattle, horse or donkey
Preceding their cruel bending
At the hands of humans;
The sparks can be stars
Or many stars, galaxies.
The dead are calling to me.
My heart is an open container.
It is not really my property;
It is the conclusion of my pain.
Stan Petrovich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-heart-297/
