Dark is the soul

Dark is the soul that hides
sniveling and whining
behind bolted doors
of fear and remorse –
Barring entry of
kindly words –
to open to love
is to open to fear

Hunkered down, sniffing
fetid smells from spaces
too far removed
from fresh Spring breezes –
a mildewed room
holding only memories
of one long passed away –
the soul shivers
fends off silent enemies,
looks always to others
lest the truth be shown
and waits for answers
too long in coming
for escape from its
dismal corridors,
for the scent of hope
to find its way
through rusted shut doors.

Lulled into a stupor
the soul awaits –
too dimwitted to realize
the greatest enemy of all
is only a mirror away,
silently congratulating itself
for the safety
its prison bars bring

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