It was way more love than it deserved...
This old heart of mine was new back then,
And it wondered ... "What in the world!!"
It pumped blood for a living,
But wondered if it was the right job...
For so much of the love it received,
Was for everything else but blood.
It was joy when she smiled,
It was pain when she shrugged...
It dreamt of growing old with her
Yet it listened to the head,
Stupid head which said it must not...
It beat itself up for years,
For that one day it let the head decide.
It beats itself now as well...
Seventy times a minute to be precise
It stops the blood to the brain now at times,
It was the brain which had done wrong...
But the heart grew older as the pain progressed,
The loud dubs dubs were slowly gone.
In guilt, it split itself one day...
Into four pieces the old heart fell,
Ventricles and aortas people called them...
But all pieces were just reminders of hell.
Attacks became a common occurrence,
These were part of the punishment it surmised...
Docs always considered these minor incidents,
And the old heart knew minors won't suffice.
The old heart beats now as it must,
but barely so it does...
Most nights now this old heart aches,
And most nights now this old heart breaks,
Rest of the time it silently pumps blood.
Rest of the time it silently pumps blood.
