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Friday, March 25, 2011

Beats Per Minute

Thirty seven million heart beats,
each of them for you;
one point six million minutes,
not knowing what to do.

The quandary you gave me,
Dirty laundry you saved me
With your quiet, secret love.

Heartbeats per minute,
times minutes by years,
equals thirty seven million,
the sum total of my fears.

Are you the last love
ever I will taste?
Are you the last witness
of my mortal disgrace?

Can ever love save
a fading wretch like me?
Shall I give up hoping
for what should never be?

Thirty seven million heart beats,
and each of them for you.
One point six million minutes
not knowing what to do.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

1 comment:

http://richardbarron.net/ said...

This poem breathes. More, please.