Birth of the Heart

Albert E. Johnson

It is not at the womb the heart is born;
There is a braver unannounced birth—
The sharp conception in the breast forlorn
That it is utterly alone on earth.

And then may we rehearse our final part,
Forespend the fearfulness of Death’s dark plan.
He knows no solitude like thine, my heart,
Nor yet the courage of the first last man.

We are but Nature’s finest trick re-give —
The lonely chime of one lone heart is ours.
Shakespeare and I, one man, have troubled heaven
In vain, and pitifully hailed the stars.

And wounded have I crept to Calvary
To find—yes, even there—a bleeding me.