My heart’s an unwalled city on a plain.
It can be overrun from all directions.
But everything it feels, from joy to pain,
Will make it turn its wounds into connections.
My heart’s an army that will never fight
Because it wins whenever it is lost.
It’s not the champion of wrong or right
But the foe of indifference, and its cost.
My heart’s a hope that has a broken wing,
And every time it tries to fly, it falls.
But that hope is not crushed—it learns to sing
Of sky and clouds and treetops as it crawls.
My heart’s a moth. It will die in the flame
That is the heart of one who feels the same.