On The Long March Poem by Daniel Brick

We are tired in body,
our spirits are spent,
but that is next to nothing
because we have a genius for
recovery. Meanwhile, our souls
are strengthened, they rival
the deep souls of the ancients
in the sacred poems. Their souls,
never weary or withdrawn, prevailed
over the claims of the flesh and
the sickness in the mind. Even now
my body aches with efforts, and
my mind is sick with desire for
the simplest pleasure. But -
the fibers of my soul are taut
with original energy that compels
base desires to desist and they
simmer down to nothing. What is Soul?
Soul is Self plus something fused
within it, a rare courage become
commonplace, a brief answer that
resolves many questions, a love
that has no shadow existence. Soul
is the missing page that completes
an essential manuscript, one that
tells us how to live... A high wind
slashes across cloud banks and the sky
bleeds dawn red over our glittering arms.
We will not stop, or even rest, until
the night reveals what the day conceals:
our dreams carry this sacred truth,
our steadfast souls protect it.
It will begin an Age of Wonder when set forth.