heart poison

i saw it when the sun got too much and i had to open the umbrella, tattered as it is, it still protects.

there, this hive, small and delicate. noone was home, but the occupants were sure to return.

they'd labored there while the folds were closed and i couldn't see them taking up residence.

sometimes my heart is closed like that umbrella and darkness tip toes in,

quietly staking ground, building walls.

and as intricate as those walls become over a shockingly short time, they must be knocked down.

the folds of my heart are no place for something that packs such a stinging poison.

but i have to open my heart up first, asking for the cleansing, and the movement of the wind.

i fool myself into thinking that i'm protecting my heart when i close it to the Spirit.

if my umbrella's outstretched, the wind may take it too far.

i am a slow learner, a stubborn sort.

and the stinging flyer is persistent, back to try again, slipping in through the tattered and torn places.

i must make sure it labors only in vain.



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