The soul that cannot
be contained,
boxed in,
or fooled by a fox,
shall be beaten with rocks.
Wave after wave,
the lurking eyes
watch, waiting to see
if the soul will bleed,
if it will crawl.
Beating after beating,
the soul finally sheds a tear.
Oh, how the lurking eyes draw near
to catch a whiff
of tears in the air.
Like a wolf,
the soul learns to observe,
to adapt,
to read the signs,
and spot the trap.
Like an elephant,
it learns to stand firm.
And what do the lurking eyes learn?
That some souls
cannot be boxed
for some souls are like eagles.
Poet, illustrator, and nature enthusiast who finds beauty in the untamed and meaning in the quiet. Whether through words or art, exploring the soul’s wild journey, its resilience, its reflections, and its raw connection to the natural world. When not writing or drawing, you’ll likely find the poet wandering through trees, chasing light, or watching the wind tell its own stories.