# My Heart Overcomes When the mind grows heavy with doubt, my heart still rises, a bird taking flight from cupped palms— Light breaks through the window in golden threads, and I think: even sorrow has its season. The world presses down, a stone upon the chest, yet somewhere deep, a quiet flame refuses to be smothered. I have learned this: that resilience is not the absence of breaking, but the stubborn insistence to mend. My heart overcomes— not because it knows no fear, but because it has tasted both the bitterness of defeat and the honey of dawn. It beats on, steady as rain, faithful as the turning earth, a fist unclenched into an open hand.

Today I am without knowing---I do not know how,
today I am only for sorrows,
today I have no friendship,
today I only want
to rip out my heart
and put it under a shoe.

Today that dry thorn grows green,
today is the day my kingdom weeps,
today it pours its despair into my chest.

I cannot move with my star.
And I search for death through my hands
gazing tenderly at the blades,
remembering that faithful axe,
thinking of the highest bell towers
for one serene tumble.

If only ... I cannot say why,
my heart would pen its final letter,
a letter I keep locked within,
I would make an inkwell of my heart,
a wellspring of words, farewells and gifts,
and there you would remain, I would tell the world.

I was born beneath a waning moon.
I carry one pain, singular,
worth more than all the joy.

A love has left me with arms fallen,
and I cannot reach for anything more.
Don't you see my mouth how it droops,
how my eyes betray their ruin?

The more I look upon myself, the more I grieve:
with what blade could I sever this pain?

Yesterday, tomorrow, today---
all of it festering,
my heart, a melancholy tank of fish,
a cage where nightingales go to die.

I have heart to spare.

Today, worn down,
I am the most tender of men,
and for that tenderness, the most embittered.

I don't know why, I don't know why or how
I forgive myself each dawn.