Soul
Age has brought it nearer.
The more I acknowledge it
the closer it surfaces.
It does not care for the cosmos,
for bright flowers, or sunsets.
Its eats all that stuff -
chews them up into words.
I am done describing it.
It's not specific.
it glows with a perfect ignorance,
it’s as innocent as a rat
in a cheese factory.
It’s creaturely, a minor deity
goats feet and a penny whistle.
It breaks a mind ripple
then tsunamis’ my pond
with a fish hook.
As I age it occasionally
peeps out of my pores,
it’s puppy dog eyes
asking how it got to be
me?
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment