Prosthesis

A picture,

               a metaphor,

or whatever you allow it to be

pushes its way to your core.

Raw emotion shapes a web

               Of moist, dense,

               Spidery sticking threads,

To capture

To embed

This omen of your fate,

Until it’s grown into you

Like an organic prosthesis

Of an amputated limb

Of your soul

This is another thing I wrote a while back. I am not quite sure why it came to me today, but I noticed how much I still like this little composition. I believe, sometimes, in some moments in our lives, our soul needs a prosthesis. In particular when we've lost something... someone... and a part of us seems gone. Forever?