They say I have a heart like an avalanche:
I have yet to find out what this means.
I laid in bed last night and thought about it.
Perhaps they mean:
        My heart is pure and white
                but heavy, and gaining fast.
Maybe it’s just my heart:
        Is like a local baseball player
                but that can’t be it.
It might not have been nice:
        My heart is cold, frozen,
                Easily irritated, smothering, deadly;
                Something to avoid at all costs.
        Or in that vein:
                Naturally a disaster.
Maybe my heart:
        Is more like a snowball;
                Gathering hurts and loves close
                building something larger than life.
I’ve thought about this long and hard:
It’s a difficult thought, difficult poem.
But even more difficult in full prose.
Thoughts can’t be fractured:
        My heart is not one
                but created from snowflakes.
Maybe my heart:
        Is like a big-budget film
                but that’s nonsense.
It could have been planned:
        No metaphors were new,
                They had to baffle, befuddle me;
                Something to think hard about.
        If that’s it:
                Cleverly played trick.
Maybe, just maybe, my heart:
        Was waiting on a mountain;
                For someone brave enough or dumb enough
                But loud enough to shout me down.

And that’s how I fall.