The Heart knows not of love,
But of the blood within its pumps.
No one quite knows love at blunt—
Only the coveted Brain does.
The one that can be altered,
Sheltered, and sponsored
In order to function
Towards love at once.
A Heart only suffers
The rise in pressure
Of every single measure
Aimed at its stump.
For as we engage in pleasures
Of trifling Earthly treasures,
It inevitably ends with a lesson
On someone's Broken Heart.
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Comments about this poem (The Heart by Edwin Cordero )
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