My Soul Stands Still

Once, before I was born,

The walls of my soul were breached. 

By whom & what is of little importance, but

As a consequence

My soul ceased to move;

Since then, and still now

It stands static,

Surrounded, engulfed and surpassed by frigidness.

Frigidness resembling the heavy New England winter.

Though,

A tiny bold ambience still survives

Deep inside.

And, when my soul had ceased to move

It made

My heart wrench.

The beat offset, is out of time,

And It is no longer is made of gold.

It was once said: Nothing Gold Can Stay,

Truth? Or

Dare I say: cursed?

~This is Alchemy at its worst.

Many have tried to recreate it,

Many more have succeeded in keeping it this way.

My heavy heart, it now sits, in its

NON-Gilded cage

A cage made from nothing more than bone—

How creepy, and gothic, and maybe slightly lethargic is that?

Desperately attempting to disseminate

The knowledge of what once existed

Regardless of how tiny the moment

Without calling on any pity, or praise, or martyrdom.

I have heard it told that:

The eyes are the Windows to the soul; so

If you are adept enough,

If you dare, or

If you Even care,

You can see all this from peering deep into mine

My golden-hazel eyes—

But it is not required that you look.

If you are so Scared—

As you seem,

You are welcome to take me on my word that:

My soul stands still.

~CP~