Soul Loss
by Imogen Sweet
It's a bind that lives in each of us,
Hanging in freely
or deeply,
Lurking or sleepy,
It wakes up like a putrid confession.
For each soul,
living in its own recluse
holds so tightly
Like a river contained
to only constrain,
for the upmost importance
and forever remain,
Unknown to itself.
And pouring tirelessly in to one pot of soil,
Niggling away at the source of its truth,
In a reflection
Caught an eye,
Caught two.
Many a time
which dissolve in their hands,
And still hesitant,
A slight forward glance
And shadowed by darkening light,
Which began to lift in my arms.
Time was fast,
Deeply so
Minute by minute was gone,
And forever.
Intertwined like a tentacle vine,
Raw and confined
It wasn't a matter of who or why,
But mine was simply lost.
Hanging in freely
or deeply,
Lurking or sleepy,
It wakes up like a putrid confession.
For each soul,
living in its own recluse
holds so tightly
Like a river contained
to only constrain,
for the upmost importance
and forever remain,
Unknown to itself.
And pouring tirelessly in to one pot of soil,
Niggling away at the source of its truth,
In a reflection
Caught an eye,
Caught two.
Many a time
which dissolve in their hands,
And still hesitant,
A slight forward glance
And shadowed by darkening light,
Which began to lift in my arms.
Time was fast,
Deeply so
Minute by minute was gone,
And forever.
Intertwined like a tentacle vine,
Raw and confined
It wasn't a matter of who or why,
But mine was simply lost.
Imogen Sweet is currently studying Anthropology in her third year at Goldsmiths college and has focused on her interests in exploring cross-cultural perspectives of childhood. Imogen’s poetry is connected to emotion, place and nature, that she began to explore during her childhood. Poetry became a way to reflect on her experiences, exploring narratives of the past in dark and reflective tones.