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My heart....
my scarred heart,
a heart full of hurt,
a sprout of undying love,
so tender as a cove,
a cove on a doves neck,
though its pieces fall as so a flake.
An untiming beautiful soul,
a predicate of peace,
peace as though musical,
so simplified but amplified,
so amiable but disabled,
wealthy but worn,
a king of kind of its own,
A golden heart it is.
©traycee