The Ark

Whatever floats your boat...

Why is it we become fixated on tragic events
Such as a broken heart?
Certainly good things happen in life
But bad memories seem easier to recall I suppose.
I have never met anyone who has claimed
To have never had one ounce of good in their life.
Yet bitterness seems to take over
And while grasping the heart,
Sinks thorny barbs into its beating flesh
Squeezing the pulsating tissue until a wall of concrete
Ten feet deep and ten miles high appears.
In an attempt to protect against outside pain,
It denies the required elements of life
Allowing death to succeed.

October 25, 1998

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