My Shocked And Dying Heart Poem by Mike Griffith

Shock is lack of blood flow
To my heart,
My broken heart.
My heart lies empty
Amongst empty Founders beer cans
And memories of what could have been.
My heart was stunned a while back
After the news came,
Sharp and steely-like
On a cool and dank spring day.
Then, emptied of life, it died.
It sits over there now...
I avert my eyes when glancing
Into that room of my life
Because the wound is wholly unhealed
And ugly.
Today, in anger and in desolation,
I nearly went to the thing,
To give it a swift kick,
Just to put it out of my sight.
But I couldn't bare to see it,
So instead,
I unzipped the yet unpacked suitcase
(it has been 13 weeks)
And took in 6 ounces of 70 proof rum.
Lying here now...
Wondering,
Wandering,
And nearly on empty,
I begin to wonder
where will it all lead?
Is it remotely possible
That my dead
And atrophying heart
Could somehow, someday,
Be revived and refilled?
Time will tell...
A story of an injured boy,
Turned injured man,
Who tried and tried,
And cried.
With real anticipation I await,
To uncover
What the final chapters will hold,
And what exactly
Is the story that will be retold
To that man's children,
And perhaps of greatest mystery
Is the answer to this question:
Will the storyteller be the man himself?