The Hamlet Project

There are a lot of things that can be done to a soul.
Just because it cannot die
Doesn’t make it invulnerable.
It can shrink
It can shrivel
It can ache.
My friend took a job on a cruise ship
Which pays him a living wage
With which he can support his son
But, he says, his soul dies a little every day.
If it were to die and die like that
In little bits, in pieces
It may be that it could all but disappear
Or go into hiding and a person could
Go to his grave
With the sense that he’s been abandoned by his immortal self,
That this death happened some time ago
While he was busy trying to survive.
I’d like to believe that the soul
Is like one of those little grow-in-water creatures.
It comes in a little capsule and expands
When you immerse it in water
But if you let it dry out, it shrinks again
Into a dull, brittle object, unidentifable in its shape
And one could think all has been lost
But if you put it in enough water, it will expand again.