Heart Box

Can it please feel less?
That feeling in my chest.
I know the world isn’t real,
But still I have to feel.
Quieting that overburdened melody,
In my heart box.

Can I please cut it out in exchange,
For a bigger and more sensible brain?
Anything less quick to ache and pain,
Like something from a machine!
That’ll just beat, and beat, and beat, and beat…
All punctually punctilious,
And wholly inconspicuous.
Quiet you! Over-pronounced melody,
Considering my heart box.

Perhaps I can, please…
Contrive a means to make it cold?
I’d buy it as medicine for my soul,
And act my own age, stern and quite old.
Or perhaps I can hide it in the shoebox beneath my bed,
So I can feel seriously dead,
In a world that’s curiously feelingless.
And when I’m alone I’d let it out.
To cherish that sweet melody,
Of my heart box.

But still I choose to feel and see,
Because if I wouldn’t feel I wouldn’t dream,
And without dreams I wouldn’t be…
And I like naive fantasies,
Hoping one day I can make them real.
As I consider the thing that sings,
Admiring it’s beats and melody,
In my heart box.