The heartbeat beats, beats, beats.
It's all that I can hear.
It beats out a path, it beats, beats,
I don't even have to steer.
And on the path of mysteries
My footsteps beat alone.
Steps in ones and two and threes;
These stumbles are all I've known.
The path is black, polished black,
A polished deep black stone.
I watch the ground, my face stares back
And shows me what I've shown.
I wonder, wonder, wonder if...
If I could stop and turn
What lies behind, beyond the cliff,
The cliff my shoulders form.
For I am the edge, the very edge
Of my existence here
On the path, the path I pledge
To walk, however sheer
However sheer my terror, my fear...
However fast hearts beat,
There is no turning back, I fear,
Till now and future meet.
And when the heartbeat meets its beats,
When all things―all things―end,
What possessions, or what feats
Compare to one good friend?
What can I do or think or say,
Say or want or make,
That won’t be bloodied rags someday,
That won’t start seeming fake?
But now I hesitate and wonder,
Doubt my own assumption;
Wonder wonder, did I blunder?
Did I pay attention?
The heartbeat beats, beats, beats,
My footsteps beat a path,
But on that path beside me fleets
A footstep kin to wrath;
Akin to wrath, to strength, to hope,
Again, to light and awe,
A friend, a brother, king and pope,
A God without a flaw.
I follow the path alone, indeed;
It’s true: my heart, it beats
Single and unaccompanied,
In a row of empty seats.
But solitude can go so far
Before it’s too extreme.
Even day has its own star,
And coma patients dream.
