Our Christian walk; do I really believe?

My Iron Heart
By Joseph Bianco

The hardest part of my heart sounds loud and deep, pinging the walls of its iron coffin,
Not simply due the loss of a woman, but because this world is broken, so broken,
We long to long for time without disappointment, with fantastical endings,
An age without the mark of an iron cast coffin for a heart.

I want a heart of flesh: molded, beating, pumping, pushing, flexing, and resting,
I want a heart to break, not shatter, to be broken and grow stronger,
Not broken forever, not the way it feels now, 

I want the knowledge of God. Don’t we all?

My apathy toward the future, her azure eyes but a picture,
If her whispers touched my ears, my heart would never flitter,
I reach my hand into the cavern to grab the flesh clad with iron,
Cerebral temple of my body that has ever to belie her

The cut is painful quickly staining, grinding, scraping, knuckled skin,

The jagged bone of my rib,
I dig deeper to find the sack, so soft and smooth the thinnest plastic
Under water, slippery and wet, but staining red the case it’s in

Where is the iron, the impenetrable keeper?
I dig deeper a mere twist of the finger, for its walls are paper-thin,
I see it now, coursing blue and red, more beautiful than the titans dead,
Van Gogh or Michelangelo

Steady, yet heavy in rhythm and time,
A master of craftsmen cast this divine,
Forming the iron from out his own heart,
Its motion and wave, the gift of a slave

My hand lays on it, deep cuts from my ribs drip small drops upon its lid,
I feel the power, what raw strength it holds,
My fingers grip round it, ready to pull,
To rip and be won my iron cast heart.

Lo I fall still, my hand held in place, an invisible force as a moment of grace,
For I was to rip the heart from our chest, yes,
I see it now. I have been wrong.
My heart is a heart of flesh. My heart is a heart of flesh. My heart is a heart of flesh.