To My Soul

Broken, beaten, humbled is my name. No words to speak, I have little strength to stand. I am without passion and my hope is faded. Outwardly I am walking, but without purpose. My heart can speak, only one word. Sorrowfully, I scream out “why”? Why, has my passion died? Why, has my hope gone cold? Why, has my vision gone blind? My soul is sick, it is diseased. It is plagued by a lack of desire. My zealous ambition has disintegrated. My eyes examine my soul; disgusted by such mutilation. My nose identifies its odor; a repulsive stench of melancholy. My ears hear its weeping; a wailing of unfathomable sorrow. My tongue tastes its vomit; a repulsive flavor of discontent. I am broken, I am beaten, and I am humbled. To my soul, I ask why?