Gimme some Soul

Are souls bagged and boxed,

compartmentalizing and sorting

our feelings, our heart-of-hearts,

our essences?

Or is a soul more like an experiment,

pressed and sealed between panes of

glass in everlasting transparency?

Or perhaps a soul more resembles

cling-film, fluttering in every which way,

sticking to nothing but everything.

Can they be ripped and torn, or even

sewn back together?

What about seen, or touched?

Maybe we’re just too busy to see,

or a soul is only in one spot just long enough

to be forgotten.

Maybe, a soul is the knowledge

that we don’t have one,

but we still believe.