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Poem: "Soul Cry"Published: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 08:56:50 -0400 Soul Cry © 2006 Taylor Strube
There’s more in the ancient book of life Than the blood and bones of former men; More to Life’s indwelling of our bones Than our cells, DNA, or proteins. We might – using speech of physical Existence – say “deep” inside us, there’s Much more than organs of heart or brain. A mind – the soul of our existence, Far more intangible than water In cupped hands, more unfathomable Than beyond infinity – exists. A soul, but one single part – If such It can be called – is not found In the mass of cells in solitude But that must somewhere, between them, lie, A soul that diligently carries The cares of the unemotional, Alien cells that feel not anger, Abandonment, love, or fear’s cold chill. The soul cries without a voice of its own To a listener in the open sky, Not to a distant star or planet Nor to the sun, the giver of life, But to something that feels the great weight Of sorrow, the slap of rejection, And the smoky flame of bitter hate, A soul in the universe that hears With no ears, sees without eyes, and feels But is heartless, all the while knowing The longings of the soul itself like Native speakers of a word-less tongue, Silent but for the whispering soul. It feels the splinters of broken, once Beautiful archways that as children Once we adored but now find crumbled In the ashes. We dig and search through The ruins of the unshakable Pyramids of our youth, finding but Shards of blood-stained glass and wood that wounds Our smooth fingers, marking them with age. Feeling our blood surge past the glassy Shards and needle-like splinters of wood, Our souls cry out from desolation With a yearning for a rebuilding, A renewal of that former grace To the one who gave them life, to their Originator, their very God.
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