When I Listen...

When I listen,

I can hear my heart beating against my chest.

The thumps echo loudly like a mountain effect,

but reverberations are in a space compressed

by my damaged heart and a life stressed

by disappointment, woes, and sundry tests.

When I listen,

I can hear myself breathe. I inhale

air that does not equal my exhale

because my lungs are now curtailed

like a leashed dog that no longer prevails

over a life full of pitfalls and travails.

When I really listen,

I can tell that my heartbeat is a shadow

and my breathing is way more shallow

compared to my youth when I had no

restrictions. But my life is not fallow,

because hope is my life’s ammo.