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 the 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 Life.
Tony Dovale - October 11 2005