Like the fallen bridge pieces,
tripped many a time in life
crossing even the levelled one's
asked for a hand to help.
Solitude or inactivity
submerged wet depths
in unwanted waters.
Five years of meditation
and scribbling morning pages
the broken soggy wood of the
old soul seems unrecognisable.
The subtle urge to not react,
the little nails of perseverance
indeed a shelter built with no one's help
where each wooden bit is a new me.
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