The sub-routines of the heart are impervious to external controls,
They keep a furious time.
These curious sparks,
Engines of the soul
Heartsprings coiled gold-
They deny death its revenue,
Decry nature's protocols of entropy and decline,
Defy loss of rhythm and energy of rhyme.
They surge forward with the sea
Rage against the storm;
Soldiers marching in the night,
They always carry on.
Against a greater darkness,
They bear a brighter light;
The subroutines are without dismay,
They know that they are right.
Yet,
Too often we do not listen,
Eyes wide open but lacking sight.
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