The white soul it wavers to and fro
Like on a tilting joyous seesaw,
That sends itself back and forth,
To and fro
Wavering in the gentle breeze
Lost in translation it turns to colourless grey
The soul cannot transcend
To a greater level, to new heights, to many new dimensions
And so eventually
The soul, frail as a weary soldier
Falls to the ground
And rests like dead leaves
Ever still and silent
Waiting for another soul
A true companion
To save the soul from itself.
Though the grey soul hopes and wails
It never finds companionship
For as the proverb goes,
‘When Armageddon strikes
Only one soul shall remain
To wander the Earth for all eternity.’
© Copyright 2016 Sgroi123. All rights reserved.
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