Soul Depletion: the Kryptonite of Old Ways of Being

New to optimism and soft hope
As a lifestyle,
A shallow reservoir
Accumulated only from
Gathering what I could from
Desert morning condensation,

My soul becomes depleted
Easily, admittedly
From unexpected “bad news.”
When I have to think to ask
To learn at all about
Cut cane bleeding juice out,

My stamina for upholding
Cheery faith and
Forging a positive outlook
Soggy snow covered petals
Heavy on branches
Bending downwards.

Sadness precipitation soaks.
Silence speaks.

Age old negative habits
Creep back up,
Quickly, deftly
Kryptonite glow in darkness
A familiar bright poison
That weakens,

Leaving me to flee
Torn winged flight



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