The Beating Heart

In Monologue
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You kneel at the feet, hands clasped
Oh no. Not for God. You’ve lost Him a long time ago.
You kneel for what God provides. What everyone needs.
You are ashamed of what has become of you
You stood high. Mightier than the mightiest.
You said “No” to all good things. Said “Deal with it” and moved on
But for this blood. This raw pink blood. The blood that colours the innocent Heart
The longing adulation. The stolen sentiment
The muse you seek blessing from, it blesses. It showers its blesses.
But It laughs. It laughs and asks
“Why try so hard?”
You look at your feet. You feel the ground shaking. You see the carpet blurring
Red smoke takes over. Spice and vice. Yet you know there are no lies

Waking up at your home, you wonder
What should you do now. The bright red light hath snuffed
Your weak flame. But you are a moth. Unhealthy, yet
You want it. You need it. You dream of it.
You feed the dog. It loves you. It cares, at least
Since it gets fed. Up. You cuddle him
You leash him in red. You try to control him. Try to help him conform
It grits it teeth. “You are not my master”. It’s eyes enflamed with human-like
You were only helping it. Trying to make it yours too. But
You forgot.
It has a master. It has an owner. Just like that light

“I think you should rest,” A doctor tells you. At least you know he must
Love you. For some reason. You die for his family.
You realize you do not matter. You are just a feather
Many miles away from a bird who nourished you
As far as you can be. Repent now. Yet you want that light
Night falls. Blight calls. You walk down alone and on your own.
Under a lamp post, a red post box. The light, this time neither a dog nor beast, waits for you there
Knowing that you are drawn to it. That you will follow it. That you will celebrate it.
It gives you pain. A pain which snuffs but still kindles you.

A red bus approaches from the side making noise and disrupting your world.
Get in or Stay back?
Get in and you be free. The flame can live again. Burn bright
Show your power and prowess.
You whistle at the wind. Close the eyes and you take a step in.
“Wait,” and the muse starts.
You turn around to see the light running after you.
Your heart starts beating. Choking. The fire spreads
You open your mouth but can’t say anything as a noise disturbs you
The Bus leaves you in the dust.
And once it clears,
The wench light isn’t here. The lamp post is lit
The first of each in the third
And your flame seeks


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