My Unbroken Heart

               I feel that somewhere around the
                         mountains of Georgia, my un-pained
                         heart set itself free.
                         It walked many dark roads to get
                         there, hiked through double-fisted
                         lies and ugly doubts.

Be careful of your unbroken heart.
Because, the broken heart has no
compassion for it.
It will throw it out in the Spring
before the snow and ice stop falling
and never let it back in.

                         "Stone Mountain? See? Stone Mountain,
                         say? Have you seen my unbroken heart?
                         But, aren't of course of court order
                         to tell me?"

                         Heart, I won't let love hurt you anymore.

Sometimes at night I dream about a heart

without suffering because the weeping over
men who have forgotten what they did to me
wakes me up, wakes me up so.
Sometimes at night I beg the broken heart
to stop stealing money from me, stop beating
me, to stop aging me, to stop snatching me up
in the middle of my sleep, to stop laying
down with men and women that come to me and
tell me what has been done because it's good
for their heart, not for mine...

                         Know that a cheating hearted lover takes
                         up a shovel and plans your burial every time
                         they run afield. But, so does mourning the dead.
                         Shake the grave dirt free.
Come home so I can comb my hair and take
a bath without weeping.
Come home so the biscuit tastes good on the
plate. But, my unbroken heart loads its backpack
to start out once again, strums a guitar of
consistency like a blues man set free from the blues.
It won't pull the slave cart anymore.
And smoke trails off a stamped out Stone Mountain
sky to God.