How Much is that Soul in the Window?

Damn this one hurts

Fitful, Fearful, Phantasmal

I don’t have a soul anymore.
Not sure where it has flown.
I didn’t know it was there before
But now I’m sure it’s gone.

Maybe I dropped it in the parking lot
Or it hid between the pages of a book.
Maybe it slipped through a rip
In the purplish thin spot.

Hopefully it has gone to a good home.

I don’t have a personality anymore.
That slinked away,
Closing the back door softly on its way out.

What are those?

I concede,
I’m defeated
And there’s no repletion
From a handful of ragweed.

Maybe it has all rolled into a cabbage field.
Bundled inside one purple head of cabbage amongst all the green.
Let’s hope so; then I’d be able to spot it easily.
Or what if it’s just a snail on one of the cabbage leaves?
I imagine a heavy-booted farmer stomped it flat…

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