The Other Brick Road

Fire engine red and ticking,

not locked behind his aluminum barrel of a torso

but hanging from a chain of daisies.

This heart was sleek and impersonal,

contained but unfastened to anything.

 

I could take my heart out from behind my rib cage

and keep it nicely on a chain

of forget-me-nots (a nice sentiment),

but what would I become but an empty

automaton with a shiny ornament,

shifting gears and moving locks

in place of a beating heart.

 

Or I could hold out my heart in my hands

like a compass,

searching for the end of a fairy road,

traipsing un-rhythmically and heedlessly,

barely seeing in front of me

except for the space between my outstretched hands

and impatient feet.

 

But I would soon find myself

entangled and confused,

lost, relying on

a broken magnet and an arrow swinging too freely,

unconnected with its pole:

misled by desire and lacking in truth.

 

Yet my heart was made to seek

beyond its bounds.

To journey,

see light,

and find home.

 

And it needs order,

a constant beat and a clear sense

of tempo to keep the right pace

for the right time.

 

And even though I may not see the road ahead by many feet,

can I see my heart clearly?

 

 

“Blessed the man who finds refuge in you, in their hearts are pilgrim roads.”

-Ps 84:6

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