Heart Butter

Compartments of a Human Heart

Horses, deadicated to their work,
Not praise is it for them motivation, 
Not reward of the after, nor deeds before.
Rush of muscle make movement.
Action of pump pushing blood.
Spark the synapse, with eyes fixed on now.

From the horse we have divided, from monkey and ape we too have split.
Their being whole, it spites us. We of the compartmentalized heart, are bound to fail.