The Heart
by Elizabeth Anderson
The heart
Is a gleaming, burning thing- Protector
Of strong-hearted splendor, Protector
Of suffering hell-song. Her bloodthirsty den,
Intended for victorious kings
And lonely secret-keepers,
Swallows its captives in delight,
Leaves them joyless,
Cowering. Staggering into her claws,
Shut from deserted halls,
Gold-shining, sin-stained
Warriors
Lean into their iron blades,
Sway into laughing sleep. The sky
Is weary with her dead and afflicted,
Weeping for the groaning corpses, flooding
Shores with its heavenly tears,
Yet the heart- full from her infamous
Pilgrimage- still bewitches her followers
And traps them.
by Elizabeth Anderson
The heart
Is a gleaming, burning thing- Protector
Of strong-hearted splendor, Protector
Of suffering hell-song. Her bloodthirsty den,
Intended for victorious kings
And lonely secret-keepers,
Swallows its captives in delight,
Leaves them joyless,
Cowering. Staggering into her claws,
Shut from deserted halls,
Gold-shining, sin-stained
Warriors
Lean into their iron blades,
Sway into laughing sleep. The sky
Is weary with her dead and afflicted,
Weeping for the groaning corpses, flooding
Shores with its heavenly tears,
Yet the heart- full from her infamous
Pilgrimage- still bewitches her followers
And traps them.