Heart Beat 

by Brandon Aki

A man, standing in the presence of  an open heart 

said this love has a beginning 

There was a crack of  thunder, he said 

Lightning struck 

and the tip of  cupids arrow awakened life within his heart.

And it continuously beat, 

in sync, with that of  another. 

He had even calculated the number of  pulsations it could have: 

From now until death 

or separation.

The nation stood in amazement at his announcement; 

They found his revelation to be facts 

They accepted it as law. 

But no one thought 

that by simply proposing that his love had a beginning, 

the man had simply reflected the rhythm of  the collective beat;

heart beats which long for beginnings, 

like Eyes first met 

and developments, 

like long walks in the park, tender caresses and I Dos, 

and endings, 

like hatred and divorce, 

to be statements of  certainty.

All love starts with a signature he said. 

It grows within a relationship, he convinced us 

and it ends with a lonely heart... 

just like his love ended, with a pen, 

as it too reflected the rhythm of  the collective beat.

Another Beat

Does love really exist? 

Is the notion that love conquers all really nothing more than a myth? 

These seem like important questions, but they really aren’t. 

Is the collective beat that requires 

beginnings, incubation, growth, separation and heart break 

the only rhythm that exists? 

THAT is the question.

There is another rhythm–One which demands that 

varying changes of  frequency be accepted as fact. 

Within those frequencies, 

love never begins and love never ends; 

and thus love’s inception isn’t simply a clearly defined event, 

like a first kiss, 

but is merely a specific change in rhythm, 

like water in an endless ocean, 

and so is romance, and so is separation, 

like death.

A heart beating in that manner could experience love, live in love and give love without 


and with enough variations of  rhythm to say with confidence 

love always existed, without beginning 

and, as such can never end. 

And it’s beat has gone, is now going, and will continuously go 

through endless changes in frequency.

That same man could simply conclude that rhythm itself  

is the horse-drawn carriage of  love 

and that one can traverse it’s cobblestone streets 

to experience the full essence of  love without end.

He will inherently understand all that, and much more, on his deathbed 

perhaps without ever truly understanding 

that he is simply reflecting 

the rhythm of  the collective beat.