The heart

The heart was larger than the vastest world at the edge of the earth.
And people watched as ships sank slowly into the dust.
With their eyes, they dreamed of a life without sorrow or hurt,
Yet dined on love and honesty, dressed in a buttery crust.

Their souls were thinner beneath chainmail and hardened skin,
But hearts can’t be armored — the greater they are, the more they ache within.
And once, just once, I saw a heart so endless and bright,
Drowning silently in a bottle, lost to the night.

I wished for one like it — though by jest, divine or grim,
I once held it, then gave it to wild dogs on a smoldering brim.
Stripped of all armor, with scars carved deep in my core,
I kept the flame gifted to that simple girl from before.

And I do not laugh — there's no joke in wars we’ve lost.
I’m no hero, but I was worthy of that heart from the start.
I don’t fight for what's not mine, nor tear it out at a cost.
Now I know: life is measured only in acts of the heart.