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Heartbeat

The beating of a heart or the ticking of a clock,
To me is lifeís real poetry, the way that it should rock.
Maybe itís cause I Ďlistení to my world with heart, not ears,
For what you sometimes think you heard could fill you full of fears.

Some say I never listen and I know I talk a lot,
And most of what comes out my mouth is simply nought but rot.
But what I find within my heart is such a stable beat,
That when I want to write it down it makes me tap my feet.

When I hear my friends are talking and I think theyíve put me down,
I donít go really crazy or meet them with a frown.
But wonder why my Ďrhythmí has gone a bit off synch,
To give a bad impression of the things they think I think.

I try to keep life ticking like a fully wound up clock,
Not pausing for a minute but as solid as a rock.
For the rhythm in my lifestyle I could never ever drop,
For like a clock thatís run down, itís then that it would stop.

So forgive me if my poetry is always wrote in rhyme,
Itís the way my feelings and my soul connect in ethereal time.
I know itís not real groovy for itís always in Ďsing-songí,
But thatís the way Iíve Ďlistenedí to my heart my whole life long.

Ivor G Davies

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