I met the Soul,
And she was empty.
She was exhausted, unattached.
She wandered charily,
Taking the back streets,
Not to be noticed.
She was unsaved.
Was she abused?
Was she just given up?
She walked so poor, not oneself.
"Why are you suffering?" -
I asked her heedfully.
And lo I realized:
It's my Soul herself.
Apr 9, 2025
Apr 9, 2025 at 5:52 PM UTC
I met the Soul,
And she was empty.
She was exhausted, unattached.
She wandered charily,
Taking the back streets,
Not to be noticed.
She was unsaved.
Was she abused?
Was she just given up?
She walked so poor, not oneself.
"Why are you suffering?" -
I asked her heedfully.
And lo I realized:
It's my Soul herself.
