Poem The Soul that Cried

The Soul That Cried

The weight of a thousand Souls
hangs heavy on her breast.

As she desperately seeks out the sanity
of the turmoil that still smoulders.

Blighted by ruthless encounters of life
we try to call relationships.

She recoils and lurches back
from another angry outburst of pain.

The incessant grasp of weak and needy minds,
clutching at her Soul,

bears down hard and relentlessly
upon her guiltiness, built up of old.

How many times more must she rekindle
her depleted and waning life-force?

Just so she can bear the brunt of another runt
seeking to ease his pain.

She goes again inwards once more,
to that familiar place she’s been before.

But this time there’s something new;
a light starts to shine right through.

Her Soul, she calls from far and wide,
there is no place for loss to hide

For this time, was called and marked,
by God herself, before she embarked
– upon this journey of solitude.

Boxed by vicious rails of social conformity,
she epitomised the shock of an abandoned child.

Incessant questioning of Self
invites the shadowy spectre
of mediocrity to rest beside.

Yet once more she stands, and hurls
her gauntlet forth into the seething mass of strife.

Nothing moves, nothing stirs, everything stops…
for none dare challenge the keeper of her SOUL.

Tony Dovale – October 11 2005