Self-Worth Poem by Mark Heathcote
Self-Worth
I have an incurable heart
it gathers in the dark
starlight music like a musical harp,
and shingles on a beach
all the sounds and rhythms
you thought, far out of reach.
I have an irredeemable soul
it can't be purchased or sold
yet, isn't its value like 24ct gold.
Banked in a vault worth
more than its confines can hold
more than the limitations of an ever
expanding universe can safely expose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/9/2025 4:01:25 PM # 1.0.0
