"They used to be red..." He said, "But they always go to black."
I peered curiously, especially at the one with the cracks.
"Did you collect all these yourself?" I asked
"Most certainly." He replied as he ushered me past.
With whispers placed sweetly at the lobes of my ears
his voice seemed to brush past all of my fears
but an image in my mind kept me from taking part
due to the shadow-box filled up with hearts.
Who's hearts had been so carefully collected?
Were they here now, how would they recollect it?
With sorrow, or pain, or a memory parted?
How did they feel, being broken hearted?
I could not let my thoughts go idle
back to the shadow-box I was guided
pulled by a thread, led by unseen forces
back to the "Infractus Pectus Pectoris."
I could feel him there standing behind me,
as I was mesmerized by this small gallery.
with deft knife and needle, he took what he could,
replacing the hole with a small hunk of wood.
Now I know how they felt when he took it away,
the pulse, and the bea