Our hearts beat like that of the sun. A constant pulse –
Occasionally overshadowed by our racing brains.
blood a brilliant hue of red – if bled.
Who could possibly walk upon the sun? Though –
Too often we allow others to trample upon our souls…
Yet for those who are kind – we open our arms wide.
Ever careful to keep just a few secrets, for sanity’s sake –
Like what is it that is really at our core?
Are we really adventurous or a total bore?
That twisted traveled road sometimes in circles tread,
As only we can master our shifting often fraying thread –
Those burning dreams, oft forgot – once hot
Fade like burnt off morning fog once we raise our head
rising, setting disc –
a steadfast beat; even when
there are cloudy skies
“Always there remain portions of our heart into which
no one is able to enter, invite them as we may”
Mary Dixon Thayer (b 1896 -)
The Book Of Hearts: Visions of Love in Word and Image
Running Press * Philadelphia / London
Note: Chosen quotes not in page order.