It was in the heart of New York City where I lost my mind and, yet to find the contract I signed I have got the southern hospitality of a country land living closely with grace from dignity's hand Out in the distance I keep an eye on misery's demand for memories like pistons revolutionize on command Giddy up place your finger on the gun fight for your right and your purpose by the sun The last days can be for living or sinning but when death knocks on the door Are you willing to be forgiving?
One thought on “Heart”
I.G.’s poem “Heart” is pleasant, revealing, and, most of all, truthful in its message. I found the last two lines to be especially worthy of note: “but when death knocks on the doorAre you willing to be forgiving?” That can be taken in two ways: 1) when death knocks on someone else’s door, can the visitor forgive the person’s faults, or 2) when death knocks on your own door, are you willing to let go without being angry at other people. Frank Kowal