My soul hurts.
In a world where kind people turn cruel-speaking words of love while fueling fires of hate.
I reach, as far inward as I can, in any way I can to grasp for my soul. In an empty but very real attempt to seize it. To wrap my hands around it as easily to protect, as the hate that tears into it so easily in its desire to destroy. Repetitively it invades. Shredding it. Bruising it. Leaving it in tatters as it rages time and again into my core.
My soul hurts.
It bleeds. A bloodless letting of spirit and life flowing unstoppable from my very depth.
Stomped. Kicked. Torn. Pierced.
My soul hurts.
Searching for the peace that heals with compassion and altruistic energies.
My soul hurts.
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