With its every pulse, throb and beat -
This is one beast of a machine

 

It's the soul's companion;
the core of our feelings

 

It can be as hard as stone,
or weak enough to be broken

 

It can be soft, warm.
Big.  Kind.  Heavy.  Light

 

It rends, burns and bleeds
Yearns, faints and aches

 

It can give a home to land
and be a place to search for answers
 
It can beat with another
Melt.  Grow fond and tender

 

We can learn by it.  Wear it on our sleeves
Take to it.  Open it.  Keep it true and simple

 

We can speak from the bottom of it
Put it in our hands.  Or find it in our mouths

 

We can look into it.  Set our hopes on it
We can let it get hollow, or fill it with our content

 

It can be thrilled, stirred or stricken
Made of iron, flint, marble or oak

 

It can be set on fire.  Sink in dread
Be cold or strong.   Won or lost.

 

We can allow its strings to be played
And let it go out to others

 

It can expand, overflow, burst.
Swell with pride and leap with joy

 

With its every pulse, throb and beat -
This is one beast of a machine