leonardcohenforum.com

The Heart Not Well



The Heart Not Well Part One



The heart not well

on a garland of morning

is beating for you.

There is a story it has to tell

of a creature shapeless and forming

through curtains of regret covered with dew.

In a station of trains coming and going

time and memory merged and divided

into something alien, foreign, far from new.

I looked to the mountains where it was snowing,

and knew my love had not subsided,

because the heart not well was still beating for you.

The Well of the Heart


Could it be thou knowest not?

The well of the heart.

The love that springs forth, if love it be

Is a selfless expression.

Not a creature of need or longing,

No regret or self absorbed sorrow in its song.

No self importance or betrayal offending,

No bitterness for a life gone all wrong.

This love for a one that consumes the spirit

May be obsession, desire or lust,

But not Love.

The well of the heart knows no depth in its sounding.

The out-flow of love knows no boundary in its rising.

And all who surf its wave

Are bathed in its brilliant, encompassing warmth.

Is this interesting "juxtaposition" [no idea what the best word would be here] a synchronicity of poem writing?