heart

william-morris-knight

I guard an open door

keeping the password in my heart.

My armour takes this toll:

each metal plate is forged from fronds of suffering.

This chain mail delicate as an ivy vine,

it hardens and darkens and cools over time.

Any one who seeks to enter

listen carefully:

‘Come address me with subtle words and gazes,

Try each change of moon, each of its phases.

Try to boldly approach with the rising sun,

come armed with a sword, a word, a gun.

Try the dark of night,

I will not be asleep.

Try drugs and wine,

Try to lie and cheat,

Try to force your way,

The way is shut,

Try to scale the walls

The rope is cut.

But put your heart in my open hand.

And I shall balance your heart against a feather,

a white feather on one hand

your red heart in the other.

And balancing them, I shall discover.

Make your heart feather-like,

And I will rebuild you

if they tear you apart.

Keep your heart true,

And I will gather your scattered self

make you new.

I will build my armour all around you.’

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