The heart pumps blood.  It thrives in the veins.  Within it is the ambiotic fluid of love.  It moves one as a passionate endeavor releasing the toxic invocation of hate.  This feeling can infect yet I will and I do love as sunlight rains from the sky.  It is a feeling of being lost in the night only to find the last friendly home on the outskirts of memory.  There, supper is warmly spread on the table and it fills with compassion and truth of the heart.  There is something like this in all that we do or so I believe until the end of time.