My Heart

Disclaimer - This poem draws from the last poem that I contributed, which in turn was taken from Karen's. However, it is removed enough that I gave it a new title, with lack of better category.

This is about my heart,
But not – NOT about Love,
Rather that fist-sized, spongy bag
That beats and beats me alive.
Tha-thump tha-thump.
 
It’s irregular, my heartbeat.
Sometimes it’s running along
And then it trips on its own feet-
All of a sudden, nothing:
Tha-thump, tha-…
 
This is a matter that conerns me
Why stop? Do you need a rest,
Oh driving beat that keeps me going?
Why stop? No lurch inside my chest
And then…
 
-thump
 
Not dead yet.
 
It makes me wonder:
How many beats must you miss
Before you are dead?
Two? Four? Six?
How do I know it will ever start again?
 
And what defines a “stopped” heart?
Hearts can’t just stop all on their own,
That’s bullcrap. One must have a part
In keeping it going.
One must not take it for granted.
 
Yet it's so easy to ignore.