Clockwork heart.

Wind it up

and off it goes.

Don't get too close,

or it might explode.

Dormant, it lies,

therefore unscathed.

It one was new,

pure, whole, expectant.

Yet toil after toil

hardened, petrifed, blackened,

then shattered it.

Now, through tears, blood, sweat, and strife,

it is repaired,

though irrevocably changed.

Hidden it is from other's reach,

tucked away in a crevice of solitude.

So that never again may it fall into unscrupulous hands,

be damaged by fickle desires,

nor get burned, beaten, or ravaged.

It stays under lock and key.

Words will not suffice to unleash it.

Only certainty, safety, and worthiness.

Till then, it ticks

steady, fortified.

Don't get too close

lest it explode.

The last obstacle

Many have sought to possess,

many have turned away from,

that tentative, cynical device.

My clockwork heart.