The heart has many purposes,
it pumps blood, vigor, emotion,
sometimes it usurps us,
what a worrying notion.
A driver of our mood,
it can bring much good,
but what of fear,
we’d rather not hear.
Time and time again,
we experience great terror,
heart stained with pain,
we lash out in error.
What if it could be different,
is it at this point, spent?
At this mental junction,
to improve human function.
How about a mechanical heart,
a wondrous work of art.
Made to be used, abused,
no soul infused.
Empty engineered magic,
is that so tragic?
The end of much trouble,
a chance to decouple,
our emotions,
faith,
rage.
Are we in the age,
where we have no use for love,
and so leaves the dove,
soaring with grace,
at a leisurely pace,
in a glorious state of flight,
heading hopefully,
towards the light.