The Human Soul

I woke amid blood and darkness,

dividing flesh from flesh.

I walked until I had written

my footprints into stone.

Tracks connect the lands,

so tongues the families link;

I have walked them,

I have spoken them, all.

Shaped by need, tools were made.

Before them, the earth did yield.

I have built them,

I have broken them, all.

Here, a mystery in two halves:

one without, and one within.

My first act separates them.

From their collision I emerge.

I brought the stones

together, and there was fire.

I sang, and the spirits came.

Upon the walls of the caves,

and the megaliths, I painted.

I wrote with my stylus

the sum of my knowledge, in clay.

Within my body is

the foundation of the Word;

my innovation such wonders,

such terrors, has wrought.

I have faced with the mirror of Self,

and breathed those vapours that issue

from the apertures of history.

Though I ever am evolving,

I in essence remain

changeless.

Titans walk today, as they

in every age have walked;

making war upon the heart

at every front,

placing pressure on

the corpus at every joint.

The soul is

a delicate flower

standing prone and naked

amid a battle-ground of giants.

Bold hands size commonly

upon prizes of common fortune;

and a delicate flower is a hard-preserved thing.

Heavy!

Heavy is the weight of it!