The seeds

On a dusty shelf of
Forgotten feelings
There is a heart.
Through the veins
The blood flows
Leaking, turning
Into the gore,
Rusty and crusty
Same old as
The feelings above.
*
The emptiness
Has deepness
Holding treasures
Deep inside
Like an ocean.
*
And new seeds
In a dusty soil
Turn into fresh
Grass in Spring.