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Punctured Souls

Drifted in the sands of time, a fractured soul wanders

Lost from the circumference of the radial which guides the night

Vaunting deep into faulty grounds, a punctured soul seeks treasures amongst the despised

With intense passion and great pain he goes to great lengths to recover life from death

O the burden of a punctured soul, too great for the head upon which it lays

Grievous howls at night and early morning moans
Gentle cries at noon and teary cramps at midnight
For surely, a punctured soul is discomfited on all sides

Rich yet poverty stricken, strong and yet weakened, permanent yet temporarily a liability, needed but ignored, calculated yet careless, healthy yet sickly and lovely yet cruelty indwelled

Creeping in from the crevices of the underworlds, spared on by hands and voices unknown

He limps into a destiny rather than a history; for fate has cursed such with the ‘venom of circles’

For no matter how far the run is made, no hideout is found

The banner is lifted from within to assert self, and yet a vagabond column stands gallantly dissolving every such resolve to advance

For it seems the Lord of fate and eternity had courted his audience without the latter’s notice

Grinding at the mill of life, he labors unabashed; but the heart greatly years for a transfiguration

With a penchant for straight merchants, he resigns to redress the floss of his impervial wounds

Nonetheless, at returning, he finds scattered his moderate allotment

FROM WHAT SHALL WE TAKE CONSOLENCE? He quizzes!

FROM WHAT SHALL OUR HEARTS BE REFRESHED? Angrily teasing…!!!

For a great damage had ruined his vintage, and his hopes had been dashed on rusty grounds

Punctured souls, victims of unthemed history; forced into molds of mankind and yet shrouded by unfeigned mystery

The phrase, ‘Here a little, there a little’, was the crowning insignia on their emblems, and exactly so was the fluctuations engulfing their souls’ …souls otherwise possessing graceful passions

For who shall easily equate vinegar to wine? Or who shall drown in a sea of water and still remain unwet? And yet such bizarre symbolism could equate the disposition of punctured souls

Hands beyond mortals’ time and space have wrecked a havoc; a damage only to be repaired on islands between Mars and Venus

A punctured soul varies; effectively displaced from origin, and the target of fiery spirits

A soul suffering the impacts of metaphysical enchantments; a soul drawn into a hole laden with dark heated vulva

The vulva heat emerges, and the scent is telling; the resounding scents of smelting frames from predecessor punctured souls

Souls wasted in the curse of circles; a curse cast on the gracious soul set to make a difference

But t’was this unalienable curse which was to confirm the assignment of the souls’ fate

For had it not been the SCARS fixated by the fires vicious heat, how would they have run into the laps of THE BRIGHT AND MORNING STAR, who molds mortals into stars?

These puncture scars usually start as a tiny hole in the extinct corners of the soul, and yet kept unchecked, it lingers and festers till it had framed the image of the whole soul

O you men, watch carefully the little fox then; for once they are grown, they would surely be a mouthful for any given throne

NativeDr,
NII
Rite-life Freelancer
( [email protected] , 0266 650 605)



by Shadrack .k. Datrey Akrofi-quarcoo

 Posted by: Shadrack .k. Datrey Akrofi-quarcoo


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quot-img-1We don't build the ruins. Our soul is in hate.

By: Charles de Leusse quot-img-1
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