Casual Hearts

Casual hearts worn on loose sleeves, we handshake our souls away, we no longer believe. It's simple, the animal instinct, the red eyed beast of passion's teeth. I get it, got it, would love to agree, but I've grown, and that man is just not me. Because I love, and suffer and cry: just as often out in joy. I feel, I bleed, I have a heart of stone -rigid and set- that I keep tucked away now, hidden and not shown. Once I was a poet, but now only a scribe, scribbling out my ragged mind in pretty diatribe. Grim and worn, aye I may be, but my heart is not casual -it can not be.