Resignation
When hearts accept defeat, they do not make
Hurt sounds, not even some hard-swelling beat
Beyond the norm. They do not feel a stake
Thrust through them, their spasming muscle. Seat
Of human feelings, throne of love, the heart
Goes silent. That is all. Why protest? Why
Cry out? Compose a sonnet? Sing a part
In minor music, basso to a high
And keening dirge? No, quietness is best.
A meditation in the locked up cell
Achieves Nirvana’s calm, fulfils the quest
Of tied up tongue in hanging brazen bell.
An aria might open up the soul,
And yet the heart seeks its Antarctic pole.