I once stumbled upon a question, “The house or the inhabitant, which is more important?”
I was too young to understand. Too naïve to see its meaning.
But after meeting her, the question became clear.
“Are we souls trapped in bodies or bodies housing souls?”
I like to think It’s the former.
That way I can see her again in her full glory, without her shackles.
A beautiful soul trapped in a dwindling body… until she wasn’t.
They say the eyes are a window to the soul, but for her, with blind eyes, personality was her aperture.
Her smile, despite every reason not to be there, was warm. A warmth her body refused to know. Her shackles grew colder with every passing day.
She obviously wasn’t the fairest in the land. At best a sickly pale blue, yet on the inside she was golden, like the sun’s hues.
Her shine was illuminating, spreading light to others around. A light her eyes could not behold.
The brightest candles always go out first.
Like an ember, a little puff was all it took to make her go out. But even the strongest winds couldn’t shake her soul.
Now she’s been smothered and buried 6 feet deep. From dust, she was made and to dust, she returned
But the “true’ her is free, unburdened from her shackles.
With wild abandon, she dances in a field of reeds where souls are unrestricted.
The golden sun shines brightly from the horizon, welcoming its children into its embrace
Its radiance, however, is dwarfed by her smile.
Even in the crowd full of golden souls, she shines the brightest.
Hi there, it’s Penman again here. The poem above is from a special place in my heart. I hope it resonated with you. If it did, please like, comment, and share. To read more poems like this, click here. Till when next we meet. Remember to stay golden.