Yet I Endure

My heart is not broken  
in fact in a pure un-poetic notion  
it’s simply an organ going about the function of pumping  
 
I do however think my soul died with a smile  
I looked it’s nowhere in the Manual (anywhere) that I should despair over a desire while that same desire unfulfilled lends itself to despair  
 
it’s a fruitless endeavor  
like a snake trying to swallow itself, so eons ago I imprisoned my own vulnerability, so much so it’s unavailable even to me  
 
I then erased the past  
embraced the idea of iconoclast  
and no longer suffer silence…  
 
Silence suffers me  
 
Therein lies the truest form poetry…  
 everything else is simply horror and pageantry