Soul Is Permeable Like An Open Membrane Poem by Margaret Alice

Reading books on spiritual, non-physical matters,
because being enclosed within stone-walls forming
a stronghold, with impenetrable gates threatening
to close any moment

The twelfth hour might chime any time, my clothes
turn into tatters, my crystal coach becoming a pumpkin,
the coachman turning into a rat; the footmen
becoming lizards

Reading “The Road Less Travelled” by M. Scott
Peck – the soul’s permeable and diaphanous like
an open membrane, thoughts are moving to
and fro between everyone

Reality being a feeling that comes and goes,
happiness turning life into a comedy; sadness
changing it into some kind of tragedy… I have
no control over the feelings that come

Only damage-control is applied, fighting back
with a several files full of positive thoughts;
though they never stay, they help me get
through until

I feel better again; why should the pendulum
in my head keep on swinging between happy
and sad; why do my emotions automatically
steer into the doldrums

Requiring first-gear and extra exertion to reach for
positive feelings to drive the darkness from my
despondent mind, when all I read is so resplendent
with promise

Of love, joy and eternal life?