The Withered Soul

There was a day
When my soul thrived and thrummed with vitality.

Granted it was never
as free and open as the glorious Sunflower
Standing with its arms flung wide.
Proud of its stature and bold colors
Reaching to the sun fully expecting to be filled and fed.    

Rather like the beautiful but reticent Rose.
Not a tight immature bud, a closed anxious soul.
Not a fully open blowsy  rose, showing its overdone and burnt out beauty.

No, my soul was a Rose.
Just coming into its glory
Tempermental, yes 
Layers of complexity, certainly
Showing the richness of its health in every velvety petal

There was a day
When my soul was well-nourished
Drenched in sun and rain
Obviously connected to the loving, nuturing Source.

But no longer!!
I have lost my way.
The connection scrambled, clouded, parched.
An “old-maid” at the bottom of the popcorn box 
A forgotten olive pit to break your teeth on
A dried pea; small, hard and withered.

Surely not, for nothing dead could still hurt like this!!
Could it be, the connection is not totally severed
Promises given to never abandon.
Possibly deep down, 
Beneath the bedrock,
There remains a nourishing life-giving vein!!

A Source to quench this thirsting, withered soul.


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