It had been said that writing is the window to the soul As if our souls have been locked in the houses of our bodies The flesh and blood of empty shells that have waited so long to be embodied When we die our bodies get put on the market Our friends become nothing, we become the homes of maggots We rot until the soil finishes our bones Leaving nothing left but soft soil where we grow real live homes Made of brick and of high plaster ceilings Or we might grow temples, as we give our souls to some higher being, kneeling On hardwood floors, with concrete steps that lead up to chapel doors And if you're not one for religion than we might build grocery stores Lined with meats and cheeses, spilled milk on the floors Because of toddlers who have had too much sugar We may even build centers for children who flick their boogers Or homes for the folks who can no longer walk Hospitals for those we have deemed unfit because they chose not to talk I suppose they may build whatever your soul has become I suppose they may build a window to your soul, a literal one If you could look into your window after death, do you think That if you peer hard enough, close enough.. Do you think you would like what you see?
It has been said that writing is the window to the soul As if we are locked in a prison of flesh and blood Maybe it's why so many people feel less than enough And maybe it's the universe's idea of punishing us Because this whole house of flesh is covered in muscle and blood Moving body parts, cells,thoughts and emotions like love and lust Pushed all together supposedly the way we're supposed to be Souls like caged animals waiting to break free Like my rib cage can't hold the thousands of lifetimes sewn into my soul Because a soul is too big for 342 bones to hold With lifetimes yet to mold If I truly am caged, there is just one more question I must ask of thee Do I really want to be free?
If writing is a window to the soul Then my body must be a home But I want you to look into my eyes and tell me what you see Because if I'm supposed to feel at home, why does this house feel empty.