RELUCTANT VALENTINE

There’s precious little I can do
To recreate the world for you,
And just as little you’ll revise
The world I picture through my eyes.

We can’t teach why each one should
Or should not do this bad, that good.
We’ll not share a common sense
Of which is which—my evidence
Is itself a self-creation
Subject to your mere negation.

Please hear me out, don’t think me rude,
Or brand me slave to solitude.
I’m not its slave, but I’m resigned
That all of nature is inclined
To separate back to its parts,
And that, for instance, human hearts
Come with chambers, four of them,
Just space with rushing blood within,
And likely those four want to be,
No more than two, or maybe three.
Two hearts joined: unnatural state—
No heart wants chambers raised to eight.

But I still harbor modest hope
That our reluctant hearts can cope
With two of them, alone, aware
Another heart is over there,
And both take solace, even prize,
Merely being recognized.

Written January 26, 2023
©2023 by Lawrence Helms