~ Cicatrix

~ Cicatrix

The heart is like a honeycomb,
Each section having many rooms:
Faith, and love, and hope, and trust.
Some hearts were never made to stand
The pains that years of life will hand;
Yet bear that pain we must.
So in those rooms of honeycombs
There are many silent, sacred tombs
With locks that never rust.
Each searing pain will close a door,
And, though we walk on as before,
There is a little less of us.
And, sometimes in the evening's gloom,
We reach into some closed off room
And drag a skeleton from a shelf;
And, though we do not understand,
We turn it o'er as best we can,
And put it back to rest.

by Adeline Foster

Comments (23)

I thoroughly enjoyed this.. a most wonderful poem 10+
This is very good. The heart is a honeycomb. Love is the honey itself.. Brian
oh my. such a refreshing poem. some poets only too well can elaborate another's feeling
Ah such a lovely poem Adeline, beautifully written.
Sacred tombs with locks that never rust...well put, so very well put. The last line is the nail in the coffin which only holds the lid tight until we reach again. I love this poem because it is true to life and put in perfect order..Great work!
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