Editor's ChoiceMusingsPoetry

Excavated Soul

Oh! What is left if the pride is gone?
If the heat that inspires is faded?
If the cold causing chills is swallowed?
And the trench is filled with debris and carcass.

For his soul yielded to ills,
the numb act that kills.
And ‘humane’ is the word,
that drove his damaged soul.

Of battered will
and shattered still,
he is a walking time bomb;
waiting to explode on anyone.

And the shovel that dug his soul was the death of his mama.
He played the delinquent drama,
became a mafia with no dogma.
He is drowning in the ocean of karma
because his soul buries all that he touches like a molten magma.

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