The bleeding heart

My beloved friend Betool has put me in a poetry mood..
My heart bleeds from the pain that it holds..
When squeezed all the hurt from it unfolds..
It is delicate and soft to the slightest touch..
But it is strong enough to with-hold very much..
It may be the size of my very tight fist..
But it has room for love, and the problems amidst..
I pray for a saviour to hand me a tourniquet..
So that I cease to stumble across my way..
A helping hand, an encouraging push I need..
To stop my heard from this never ending bleed..


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