what do I refer to, when I talk of something
not real or sensible, but need so god ******  much
people do **** for

we hopefully feel it like the need of a newborn to
cry and breathe, to wriggle for and seek
only hours old

written in song and  themes of novels
and tragedy wrapped up into poems with
roses thornless

Or affairs we do casually take lighter than
a coffee  break as we laugh at the young
things feeling it all out

And the body human the Mother Earth if
not for it would not revolve , and the  poet  
would not rhyme

And Philosophy would have never been born
a thinking man who thought of it all might
be just a normal man

Whatever souls are made of
Cannot be gauged or weighed
They are not a Will O the Wisp
Neither light nor shade
They're not made of ether
Nor in the ground are laid

They can't be poured or measured
They're neither young nor old
They don't have a temperature
Neither hot nor cold
They don't have a price tag
Neither bought nor sold

Whatever souls are made of
They're not chiffon nor lace
They're not helmet or khaki green
They have no mortal face
And when they leave the body
They're gone without a trace

Is the soul emotion?
Mind, or so it seems?
Is it something like a vapor?
Something like a steam?
Is there a place called heaven...
Or is it all a dream?

So many opinions
So many thoughts to weave
Here is my opinion
Here's what I believe...

If they have a presence
They're a hand within a glove
They can touch and hear and feel
Need nobody to dub
They can fly on wings of ravens
Or are as gentle as a dove
They are made to search for God

They're made just search for love.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/2/2016

had it run just straight
with no turn on either side
we all would surely fret
life is such a boring ride

life is so dully made
that's all we would say
the road is clearly laid
same looks every day

no bumps and no holes
sharp bends of surprise
the way blandly rolls
we don't fall and rise

thank god ain't so made
life has twist and turn
in search of what's ahead
we persist with the run.

on the verge of wilderness
imminent silence*

welcome
the sun stroking
peaks aglow
the thundering falls
mist-kissed rain
the solitude
so rarely reached
too often breached

stillness loosen
untamed words
in the native tongue
before thoughts
unspoken
became yours
mine
ours

to the wild
bear these
cryptic symbols
scrawled on
my halved heart
tokens of longing
succor
for the lost

Unnecessary arguments
why do they happen?
All unproportionate
to the problem like a cannon
being set off if someone threw a pebble.
In the end nothing will settle
and everyone is angry over nothing.

Just when you think
the road leads to nowhere
crops up the moss veiled house

its crumbling bricks make greyer
the sky with the hush of twilight
and you rue with melancholy
the night under its roof assigned for you

but the old man like a seasoned spider
lets you forget you're trapped for the night
to his web spun from timeworn earth
as you stare engrossed upon his face
outlined by glowworm sparks

he recounts it was all marshland
he grew into bowl of harvest
and how he was blessed with
the most beautiful woman on earth
then reaching the crescendo
his words thin into whispers
when he tells you his two poor eyes
were not enough to hold her beauty
so she putting a stone on her heart
spread wings on a night like this

the cornfield wilted
he wizened into an endless wait
with gracious death saving his bones
to lighten his heart to a stranger
who comes alone.

I am accosted by Your love
Thrown into the turmoil of emotions
Given no chance to realise
That I'm about forgotten notions

Love ought to be a pure thing
But here it is despised
No one can forget Your love
Yet many try to hide

Impurities and long lost dreams
They think it's all they'll gain
What others try to offer them
Is always causing pain

Love now is no more than a toy
To be found and lost
To be enjoyed and forgotten
Yet they never realise Love's true cost

It is an unmoving thing
Forged from Man's first thoughts
It always is and has forever been
Yet now it is debauched

We claim that we know what it is
And yet we have no clue
Unless of course we have sipped
The Love that comes from You

You are yet still pure of heart
And know of Love's true worth
For it was You, the Mighty Craftsman
Who first divined Love's birth

.

I look for the truth
as I follow deception
Seek happiness
neath the darkest of skies
Whistle a tune
when my last breath is leaving
Accept the pain
as the mourning dove cries

Call out your name
when the echoes defeat me
Stand on my mark
while I’m pushed to the side
Harbor my strength
in a weakened dimension
Live everyday
when it feels I have died

Chasing a dream
that is still running faster
Lost in the scene
fading farther from sight
Penning a poem
with hope you will read it
Sending some love
in the words that I write

Then if I see
I have made your life better
Squinting my eyes
in your bright smile’s glow
I’ll walk away
as a teardrop is falling
With a goodbye
that I wish was hello

You said you loved your freedom,
The iron in your chains,
Rearranged the furniture
To mimic the movement of change.

You said you held your secrets
Like a cigarette in the rain,
Close beneath the shelter
To keep alive the flame.

I know the room is empty
As you pace on through the night,
Empty bottles and bloodstains
From where you threw the fight.

I know the sky is vacant,
I know the glass is full,
I know the nights are so long
When there is no one there at all.

But you will make it through my friend.
You will greet the morning of your life.
You will sober up, you will calm down,
And everything will turn out right.

You will roll away the stone my friend.
You will wander and you will roam.
All these obstacles stood in your way
Will one day lead you home.

It is ever the Holy Spirit’s work to turn our eyes away from self to Jesus; but Satan’s work is just the opposite of this, for he is constantly trying to make us regard ourselves instead of Christ. He insinuates, “Your sins are too great for pardon; you have no faith; you do not repent enough; you will never be able to continue to the end; you have not the joy of his children; you have such a wavering hold of Jesus.” All these are thoughts about self, and we shall never find comfort or assurance by looking within. But the Holy Spirit turns our eyes entirely away from self: he tells us that we are nothing, but that “Christ is all in all.” Remember, therefore, it is not thy hold of Christ that saves thee—it is Christ; it is not thy joy in Christ that saves thee—it is Christ; it is not even faith in Christ, though that be the instrument—it is Christ’s blood and merits; therefore, look not so much to thy hand with which thou art grasping Christ, as to Christ; look not to thy hope, but to Jesus, the source of thy hope; look not to thy faith, but to Jesus, the author and finisher of thy faith. We shall never find happiness by looking at our prayers, our doings, or our feelings; it is what Jesus is, not what we are, that gives rest to the soul. If we would at once overcome Satan and have peace with God, it must be by “looking unto Jesus.” Keep thine eye simply on him; let his death, his sufferings, his merits, his glories, his intercession, be fresh upon thy mind; when thou wakest in the morning look to him; when thou liest down at night look to him. Oh! let not thy hopes or fears come between thee and Jesus; follow hard after him, and he will never fail thee.

“My hope is built on nothing less

Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness:

I dare not trust the sweetest frame,

But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.”