Beyond Life's Maximums Poem by Mark Heathcote

Some people sometimes, they're like wandering kayaks-
Adrift with; open-heart surgery still hacking them apart.
They're heading always downstream into the rapids.

Some people grow up; grow old, gathering lilacs
Every moment is tinged with a bitter, afterthought.
He loves me, he loves me not
He loves me, he loves me not

As though their heart was a foreign entity that inhabits.
As though their souls were caught in some wire traps
Some people feel they're not really real but a counterpart:
So, they live their whole lives beyond life's maximums.