What prison
	Is the heart?
	A fastness
	Of self--
	Or selflessness?
	A rock
	Whose only words
	Are hard,
	Harsh hatred
	And despair?
	Or a glowing
	Fire, from
	Which radiates
	Gentle warmth,
	Concern and care?
	Within the heart
	Wail uncountable,
	Ceaseless calls,
	For whose cries
	No ears
	Ever are.
	How can Love,
	That sweetest,
	Best sensation,
	Burn so keen,
	So sharp
	As the most
	Potent acid?
	Love unexpressed
	Beats like
	A storm-tossed sea
	Against the un-
	Yielding rock
	Of the rigid heart.
	Love proclaimed
	Soars like the gull
	Through skies
	Of purest azure,
	To enfold
	And warm both
	Giver and given.


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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