The snail

The soul

Once in a lover’s arms sheds

It’s protective shell, lies bare

Curls itself in to the warmth like a new born babe, trusting

A snail without it’s shell, exposed

And fragile, naked

And glistening, shining

In it’s silvery untouched zeal.

It is not

To be whipped at, lashed and nipped

Pricked with pinpoint words

Only to be stroked, to be sheilded

With care and warmth, to be cupped

With tender palms, not squashed

Under the weight.

If thrashed

The boneless, defenseless thing

Shall break in half, dry up

Of it’s silvery zest, shrivel down

And crumble like a leaf that has fallen

From a nurturing tree, beaten down

By a relentless, unforgiving sun.

The soul

Shall die,disintegrate, become

The blackest of coals that lies beneath the rocks

Without its silvery sheen. Ugly

Black and

All life drained.


One Comment on “The snail”

  1. Judy Roney says:

    Whew! This is great. Likening the soul we give in love to a snail without it’s shell. Powerful image.

    Welcome to the World

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