My soul is weak .. a lot weaker then it should be ..
I have been ravaged by the vultures of time
I have been damaged
I have been destroyed
My soul has been ransacked, pillaged
my soul has been slashed open
gashed open by the wolves
who take pleasure in draining my life substance
by the vultures
who take pleasure in my pain
The shreds of my soul hang loosely in the wind
They limply flop in the cold winds of time
Ready for the next barbarian to come by and eat what’s they feel is theirs
The pieces of my life sway carelessly in the wind
the scent of my weakness is carried recklessly through the storm of life
Soul shattering threads hanging loosely
Droplets of my life force dripping into pools
How has my soul gone this far and not fall apart?
How has my soul carried on?
Why hasn’t a she wolf gone by and snatch what is left to feed her young?
Its what we all do …
We feed on one another ….
We sniff out the vulnerable
We use the venerable for our own sick and twisted pleasure …
We mock the vulnerable behind their backs..to their face
WE get a sick thrill seeing what we create…
The vulnerable like me
The vulnerable that has been torn again
And again …
And again ….
The vulnerable like me, our ripped soul’s that dangle in the wind giving off the scent of life
We are sought out …we are snuffed out
Then the attacks come ….
The shreds that are hanging ..the soul that is just hanging on …for one more day ..one more hope
False likes…false hopes…
the fake …
Are used to make the vulnerable believe
Then when there is hope
When there is a hope to dream
The hope to live
The soul is slashed open again revealing the tattereness inside
The soul is scratched, gashed letting the life-force out once again
A soul that is destroyed is once again left in the cold wind giving off the scent of its defenselessness
How much longer can a soul be resistant?
How much longer till the wolves come?
A soul that is so shattered that prefers to be eaten
To be put out of its misery?
How much longer till the vultures come and claim their piece of the battle?
A conflicted soul….
A soul that will trudge on …
A soul even though is ragged
A soul that even though it is tattered
Will trudge on …
The vultures may circle and swoop every now and then
The wolves that snarl and bite and chew the meager piece that they have claim is theirs
This frayed, ragged, tattered, shredded, soul will march on.