Words and Feathers

the abandoned heart is beating
it struggles on, but not in spite,
or beating, rather, not to spite
but because it knows nothing else

dreading the silence of the night,
the abandoned heart is beating
to hear itself, steady rhythm
the only comfort it has left

cold darkness too, this loss of words,
a handful of half-told truths–though
the abandoned heart is beating
it will–can not beat forever

these days are soft sun-filled hours
and gray clouds hiding silent stars
that whisper, it is a lie that
the abandoned heart is beating

Jane Dougherty’s Poetry Challenge #12 – Quatern