Soul

The soul strives blindly

groping a path lacking an end.

Perhaps a star shining kindly,

But not enough to fix or mend.

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Light a long forgotten kin,

With slight memories of its task.

But nothing now is as it's been,

And there's no joy from which to ask.

-

It falls only to go on groping,

To a destiny unknown.

Never ceasing its silent moping,

when the star has lightly grown.

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Still, I praise it for its crawling,

through battle, blood and war.

For how its light's forever calling,

who knew a star can be a door?