The Soul

von admin | Nov 18, 2022 | Ballads

Galvenir Poems The Soul

292

ACT I: Luck

What is a soul of anything? It cannot be defined,

And yet, it seems to be a thing that cannot be denied.

So long have humans now believed that souls may well exist,

A fitting end to every story, the most perfected twist.

Still, some would wager otherwise and tell us to beware,

That even if we can believe, we simply shouldn’t care,

As nothing could we ever find in something so eternal,

Not more than empty husks of words hidden in a journal.

Some would even dare to say that souls will die as well,

And that there will be nothing more, no heaven and no hell.

That all we are is simply this, this soul that makes us whole,

And nothing writes a human’s fate, nothing is our goal.

So, it seems that souls persist at least as an idea,

Bringing solace to the few, deadening the fear.

And I, myself, an honest fool, I try to not be coy,

For every true celestial being is bound by its own ploy.

As such I leave it all to luck, and hope that I belong,

I hope that I can venture on and that my soul is strong,

And even if it won’t exist when all my life is gone,

It will not matter anyway as I have long but won.

ACT II: The Form

A soul is said to need direction, so a few have said,

But first, it has to find its form, built out of regret.

Nothing knows to plague our minds than unfulfilled potential,

As nothing more we ever see, our dreams they are essential.

This is why we see ourselves in others that we meet,

It is not just a simple human that our body greets.

No, it is another soul that has taken form,

And we feel this bitter chaos, this unrelenting storm.

Serenity is seldom found without a broken heart,

Wisdom is not to be gained in absentia of the art.

Harmony is wrapped in all these bandages of hate,

And purpose is so often sought in epic tales of fate.

Yet, the soul takes on the form of that which we have chosen,

And not of what we hope to be, the mind it likes to cozen.

Such is our only way to find this perfect mirror,

That shows us our inner self and makes the path much clearer.

And once we’ve seen ourselves reflected in another’s soul,

It will mend the deepest wound and it will make us whole.

This is who we truly are, who we’ll ever be,

Opened are the seeing eyes, forever to be free.

ACT III: The Mind

Often times I stopped and wondered: What is a person’s mind?

Be it filled with burning rage or full of grace and kind.

What is it that we think about, and how can all this happen?

I wonder and I turn around, so mindlessly I’m stepping.

Oh, wonderous the irony of those so full of venture,

A mind so full of ecstasy, but their soul just a debenture.

Is it foolish to assume that soul and mind are one?

If the soul is to survive can the mind be gone?

Yet, I’ve seen a clouded mind so foreign that it hurts,

No memory seems to remain, like a flock of birds.

It haunts the soul to see a mind so recklessly abandoned,

It feels as if our foolishness is swiftly reprimanded.

But if the mind can turn to dust what happens to a soul?

Without a mind as company, how can it be whole?

It frightens me to think about the horrors that ensue,

With every fleeting moment that seems to be a clue.

Still, I try to hope for more, to think of what might be,

Even if it won’t exist and if I’ll never see,

This beauty of eternal souls and of eternal minds,

Makes me wonder what will be the truth behind these signs.

ACT IV: Direction

All that makes a soul complete seems to give direction,

Everything a human needs to move right into action.

A goal so grand it never fades, ambition overflowing,

A heart that is so full of love that anger keeps it growing.

A mind so strong and capable that everything is seen,

Even just a faint idea can turn into a dream.

Every step is calculated, even if unknown,

And the future it collides with what the mind had shown.

A form that never truly fits and grows with every year,

A body strong, yes perfect even, bound by mortal fear.

Any anguish that it takes, is softened by its heart,

To try again another day, to find a brand-new start.

And with it comes a lot of luck, with it comes a chance,

A vision so remarkable, a visionary glance.

To turn a stone into a house or turn the sand to glass,

Knowing when to raise the bet and knowing when to pass.

All of it creates a soul, eternity reflected,

But nothing will it ever be, if it is not directed.

And thus, it finds itself colliding with other broken souls,

Oh, what opportunity, oh, what foolish goals.