L Milton Hankins Poet Rhyme

Musing On the Soul

What is this soul we talk about?
Might I find it in a droplet of water
Perhaps, in a pop tune … a shout,
In a loving mother, an abusive father?
Elusive and ethereal, so hard to find
Is it in our unique thought processes,
A synonym for the individual mind,
Something every human possesses?
Perhaps, a figment of imagination?
Something we cannot understand,
Many a theologian’s rapt fascination
Part of being under God’s command.
A faith word of import, I assume,
All that’s left of us when body dies
All that matters, we can presume –
Is it the ultimate goal or life prize?
A longstanding mystery, to be sure
Many folks say when we die, it’s over
What is to be gained by being pure,
When we’ll be buried under clover.

Written April 6, 2022

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Caren Krutsinger April 8, 2022 at 4:56 AM This will be enough Hank, for you have written many a word to leave behind "A faith word of import, I assume, All that’s left of us when body dies" L Milton Hankins April 8, 2022 at 8:53 AM Thanks, Caren. I was just musing on this soul we all possess but find so hard to identify or place in the grand scheme of things.