Sarah Stewart Arts | Ode to the Heart
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Ode to the Heart

by Sarah Stewart
(Where is fancy bred in the heart or in the head?)

Oh beating life spring whose perpetual flame
In humor
doth forsake its name
and in chambered whispers and venus hums
take upon a role not won
But the poet’s pen in er doth claim:
Tis throne to loves impetuous reign

Think ye not that we are snared by a more superior way
Than within our breasts droning lair?
On Turkish chair sits fickle master
Leathery batwings in belfries fly much faster than
Butterflies and starry eyed synapses
love is but a series of lapses
in sanity
this technicolored spell binds all humanity with strange threads
from hearts to heads
from graves to beds

today I write in defense of said poetic centre
the scapegoat for slings and arrows to enter
She takes no rest as the poet by day
Now writing in jest of her noble way
Yet boast she may in constant care
the tightrope walk
The balance of science and art
To spare us life interrupted
And so she wears the mask of a fool at play
For who would clasp their head in a heartache
Would be looking more like a headache
Though they seem to end up the same

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