The ferocity
Velocity
A flash
A bang
The light
Begin again
And again
No start
No end
Growing but still
Still but not static
Rather, dynamic,
Expectant
Extraordinary
Yet simple addition
Years added on
One life
Leads to the end of the body
Wrinkles on the face
A brow of discernment
Yet what of
The soul
The old soul some say
A youthful face
But old, outside of time and space
A soul
With wrinkles
Seems odd to perceive
Such an experience
Impossible to believe
Wrinkles on the body
Show the weathered nature
The worn-down façade
The torn down veil
Death is just beyond
Though just a dust death
Matter changes
A soul is not matter
So, death is of no matter
To the soul
Another movement
Another aria
An opus of every crescendo
A da capo of sorts
This symphony of life
The life of a soul
Cherished
But does not diminish
The value of the body,
Rather, giving emphasis
Emphasis to the now
To the here
The moment
For each fleeting moment
Is a wrinkle on the soul
And thus
When a soul is wrinkled so,
It stretches, expands,
Becomes more with what it has gathered
Never ending
This soul,
This, essence,
Not to be taken lightly
Not to be taken seriously
Rather, merely taken
Accepted,
Believed,
Composed,
Discovered,
Explored
The wizened soul
Wrinkled so
Is unseen by most
Except by another
So wrinkled
About the Creator
Thor Grey (G. Steven Moore)
Storyteller writing fiction, poetry, and essays inspired by resilience, curiosity, and the complexities of being human. Every piece is an invitation to reflect, imagine, and grow.
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