Onto The Name of The Maker

A heart surfaces Within deceptions' ink Pumping this liquid To systems Without name The chemical looms Over, unnamed systems Reeking its stench to all A wis-o-wisp Stationed within That non-carnal chamber Of hearts Protected, Thumping silently Behind the scenes Its purpose unknown, To itself. Yet, waiting and patient Till that spear With milky coconut tip Penetrates that chamber Restoring the rotting, Salting muscular pumps Till that wisp Emblazens.... That inferno rages, Incasing every function Thought, and word And grows forever more Driving those automatic systems Forward Beating to that sweet Lullaby...