The Unrealized Soul

We put our trust in restless things
The faithless tided of empty springs
Hoping forth that they will bring
The trappings of our souls

A hazy discernment pervades our lives
A sunset keeps us hypnotized
Innocence becomes our lives
A keeping of our souls

Nature, a prize, is fine we know
A beautiful bounty of things to grow
Or an emblem of art, of love, of man
We worship the sun, the air, the land
Yet nature is nature, as sure of all things
But in our hearts to purely it rings
Though evoked as a god, hailers as a king
It becomes a blockage of our souls

We forget what lies within at times
What breathes and inside, what feels, what cries
The dirt will stay, a cyclical ride
Yet it takes our focus from what surely dies

Once gone it can fly no more
Each different to the next
A cause for mourn for an eternal rest
Some hope of darling thrush won’t cease to be
The Earth changes ne’er, nay, not so much as we
So that a shame it becomes when ground takes the care
And lost is the thing, so fair, so rare
We miss the thing of what we should be aware
Give deference to the soul

So leave it must, this wondrous sprite
The earthbound falls, so old, so trite
To grow the flowers in the night
The enchanters of our souls

And then they mourn, too late for love
And beet their breasts and lament their luck
Never more will be felt the touch
The kiss of what means so much
The single breath of the heart’s singing
A greater cause for caroling
Would be a christening of the soul

An elegy is heavily Bourne
A tribute fit of those who mourn
A body subject to tearful gaze
A soul enveloped in mournful lays
A final respect of the soul

And finally laid in an earthen tomb
The body will rest
Yet the lost soul resumes
And finally its work are seen for their worth
The art can be seen as superior birth
To a bud, a rock, a bird , a stream
And the soul’s worth is finally seen
A fullfilment of the soul

Forever laid in history
A posthumous fame is better than none, indeed
And now hailed as a saint
The words a creed
A worship of the soul

And so from then its story is told
Although forever checked by an unchecked mold
Whoe’er is left to shake the trees
Is also left to pick up the leaves
Evermore a whimsical destiny
An eternal, unrealized soul