Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks August 2015 (Collaboration) | Page 46

The Black Heart
Simon Benson
Wherever no active eye cares to look,
Where no ears stop to listen,
Where no brain pauses to think,
Resides the black heart.
Here are the slaves to the falling light.
Here they ravage torn flesh,
And still splatter unholy ruby beads
From the non-pulsating pulp.
Anointed with tainted blood
And jaggedly drawn definitions of man,
They continue their progressive purge.
An ethos of assimilation or annihilation.
More animal than the rest of us,
We paint a picture of our idolised selves,
Rather than draw attention
To our secret little flaws.
But perhaps this entity is a collective?
Occupying the recesses
of our every primal core
Long before
Eyes could look,
Ears could listen,
Brains could think,
And Hearts could feel.

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