The Soul In Poetry

Beautiful door
(Inspired by the first five paragraphs of Sven Birkerts’ essay on Emerson’s “The Poet” – A Circling, Poetry, April 2012)
This, then, is why
and how, and all the other
important questions
rolled into one.
There is no burning
question worth it all,
after all,
if soul is not mentioned,
understood as primal
and holy,
outside of any sect
or belief.
Soul –  quiet being,
deep inside 
that is more 
than we can ever
hope to be,
that is the purest form
of us – without doubts
or misguided fetters
into deep waters
that grow dank and murky.
Soul – strong and sure,
more comfortable 
than we are
in our own skin.
Completely self-assured,
deeply knowing
its inherent talents
without ever playing shy
or self-effacing,
dwindled down to nothing
through every fault of its own.
Soul – knows – soul is
everything we hope for and more.
Soul fears nothing
but our never
venturing toward it – never
touching the earthen door
that waits to open to us.

Let us go then, you and I - let us discuss.

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