Soul | Poem

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,

This petty pace increases toward an unseen end

Till arms crossed in a casket my body will be.

Oh, why be alive at all, if all I earn is death?

My soul is guarded more heavily than the walls of Jericho,

Though if I but lift a finger to read that book by him penned

May I not be cast into the fiery sea.

But another will take my place, as Abel by Seth.

If Time be my father, then he has let me down,

For I am doomed to die as all men did before.

And when my body in the casket lies, where will then be my soul?

Separated for a time, but doomed to boasts or glory.

For what do I live if not some crown?

Surely I shall descend to that place abhorred

Where none are so much to be consoled as to console.

And such is the reality of all men’s and my story.

“I wish for the stars to fall upon your head

And fill you with such wonder.

I wish for the winds to fill your soul with desire,

So that in all things you may see all that I am for you.”

But through all of this, my soul remains unfed,

Unprotected in the storms of rain and thunder.

“Untrue,” rings the word spoken by her,

“The time draws near when you are made new.”