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?
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 Ah! lovely write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Awww the soulmates, our second half... Are we really meant to have? Could the restoration be made maybe with beautiful creations such as this poem? A soul might built itself back creating a new beautiful whole self from tormenting wonders, or so would I hope? ...