In Search For The Beating Heart

words break on cobblestone paths,
as bare feet testify.
hearts spill from fugitive ashtrays,
while thumbs stand in line to pray.
damned souls with railroad faces,
shuffle by the barrel.
small babies paint their faces with ashes,
dogs crow, and fences stutter.
bodies cling to scattered dirt,
messages written on dirty windows.
if it is for this that god expressed,
then let the funeral begin!

how far we walk in search of near!
at each scent of identity we shudder.
even water burns in this wasteland,
and robins walk on broken eggshells.
there be no tongue that is not lit,
as frost scorches the pilgrim's eyes.
if love then breathes it sweats and growls,
while pencils claim their souls.
the very sky rent with passion,
this madness lifts the cup....
these lips melt with hunger unrestrained,
in search for the beating heart!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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