I cut my heart out,put it in a tin
buried it under the oak
and went on in to the world
turning my back on emotions.
Emotion is weakness
my old self knows this well.
I shade my skin to no longer
suffer such diminutives
Now I can trespass life itself
without care and its caution,
without fear and its hesitation,
without tears and their sorrow,
with nothing to stop me,
to put a stutter in my thoughts,
to cause a pause in my footing.
I face it all as emotionless as a statue
empty to my soul.
In the blizzard of winter, I will stand;
In the ferocity of the storm, I will stand;
In the heat of summer, I will stand;
to the end of days, I will face life
without a quiver,
without that heart that had made me soft.
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