Soul Searching

What do I know of soul? Nothing but its close conspiracy with death As the soul disconnects and flies when we die. The world's soul can be seen in the clouds, And death looms and hovers high Over this tumbling clod of earth. I also see the wind in the clouds And hear the floating truth the wind conveys. The world is a Barnum and Bailey hoax, An elaborate deception. Does not the earth look flat? Does not the sun appear to rise and set? We are but a mere handful of dust Thrown into the face of the wind. That may or may not be soul, But it sifts us along, anyway, Like the silt of destinies. No one is accountable for the accident of his birth, Although he may be for the untimeliness of his death. Life is a great chaotic secret, And we are merely ignorant Searching souls in constant cosmic disarray. Author's note: We are all ordinary. What is extraordinary is that so many of us ignore what few strengths lie within us as we try to live with and around our flaws. "Soul" is an imprecise term, or so it seems to me. "Mystery", perhaps, has the advantage of a more precise application.