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Look Into Your Heart
With her hands resting on her hips, Alice turned to the Mad Bunny.
If I am to get a hold of my passion and grow
I’d have to go where I don’t want to go.
And there you are, asking how hard could it be –
is it possible you know so little about me?
The Mad Bunny took off his hat and scratched his forehead. For once, he was at a loss for words.
Alice went on:
I’m sure you’ll find it amusing,
but here’s the deal:
My heart is my Achilles heel.
In many ways it resembles the Moon,
Chances are fat I’ll get there
any time soon.
My heart has its own agenda:
its impulse cannot be ignored,
its desire cannot be deplored.
Sometimes in and sometimes out of tune
vagrant and fickle, much like the Moon.
From a distance calling to be adored,
up close it’s dark, elusive and unexplored.
A hollow cavity
that transforms shapes and alters sound,
recycling pain –
My heart is a burial ground.
It’s where ghosts of the past roam,
Forsaken dreams,
dead friends and lovers call it home.
Lined up in order of loss into neat archives
they guard my passion with their fallen lives.
And it’s my passion I’m after,
it’s my passion I have to extract
from this bottomless, haunted crater
of my heart.
The Mad Bunny nodded, “It’s where your passion is!”
It’s where my passion is, I know.
The way to it is one.
As clear as it is,
it’s easier said than done.
My passion quietly hibernates
at the bottom of my heart
safe and hidden from sight.
Unmoved by untold prayers
buried under oodles layers.
To get to it,
I’d have to dig hard and dig deep
To get to it,
I’d have to make a giant leap
to cross to the other side,
it’s a fucking suicide!
To get to it,
I’d have to travel
all 180 degrees
of unforgiving memories.
I’m not a historian,
I cannot make any sense of the past
And remembrance is a subjective state
all to easy to manipulate.
To get to my passion,
I’d have my whole heart to attune…
Since we are being so reasonable,
why not just aim for the moon?
Either seems hopeless to even try;
Isn’t it better, isn’t it wiser
to let sleeping dogs lie?
“Well…” the Mad Bunny contemplated for a minute. “That depends… Do you want to appreciate art or create it? Do you want to be a sleeping beauty or kick some ass?”
“I want to kick ass.” Alice said.
The Mad Bunny smiled. “Then there you have it!”
Photograph from the series Mad Bunny by Yves Lecoq
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he never asked for a photo
she sent them all her own,
some were of her with her kids,
others more close to the bone.
thought she him a king
on a polaroid throne,
collecting snippets of women
whose hearts were alone.
🙂