Should one fight his way through the thick forest of my sadness–
and chisel away every rock of bitterness that walls off my heart–
he will find that his efforts were in vain.
I’m not hiding heaven in this heart.
My heart is but a chilled cadaver for me to cut into
without ever drawing blood.
You search for a loving heart to keep you warm
in a frozen tomb that was long ago buried?
What an odd little boy you are on your silly wooden horse.