Restoration Poem by Marg Lahrwohl

In my disquietude, I considered:

has the soul a second half
which by birth was rent from its self
engendering a lifelong strife of
hungering for and hunting for
a reunion to complete - complement?

is my soul-mate my balance and counterbalance-
calming my anxiety,
emboldening my timidity,
softening my brusqueness,
lightening my seriousness?

or is my soul like the page of a book torn in half,
so full of words yet empty of meaning
till the missing piece restored
finishes my sentences,
punctuates my clauses

and changes my theory to reality?