Nothing Is More Involuntary Than the Heart

There is nothing more involuntary than the heart…
I don’t want to live, but my heart keeps on beating;
I know it’s all wrong, but my heart keeps on loving;
My logic is up, but my heart keeps on sleeping;
My voice is composed, but my heart keeps on weeping.
If life tore my heart and me apart,
Would I even know if it was worth keeping?
Reason says, “No,”—but without deeper meaning.
I’d let my heart go, but my love’s not receding;
I’d let my heart know, but it’s not worth repeating.
It defines me although I don’t want love to keep me.
I wish it would come right up front and meet me…
But a heart, without eyes, could not even see me.
I wish that my heart would simply leave me…
Yet then I’d sit pondering, devoid of sincerity.
I would keep up my musing, bereft of fidelity.
My actions would come off distantly, tacitly…
Making me something I don’t want to be.
Dear Heart, O worst enemy, living in me,
I’ll hold onto you out of necessity.