Search Of The Soul Poem by Rodion Myshkin

A day, another,
Goes with plaintive colour,
The strings do strain,
As questions remain.
Born, I be or exist,
Yearning to know,
It chokes and gasp,
When senses fail to grasp.
We see, we hear, perception ends,
The soul grooms to new life,
Unlike the pain from doubtful shame,
Creation and delusion, faith shall breed.
Blind to reason's stare,
I quiver with angst,
Despair engulfs me.
I am, or is it the soul?
Though thought stays centered,
God holds the abode,
But isn't time now,
To let rationality reign.
Logic feuds with emotions,
Spark unrelenting notions,
Mind unaware of caution,
Drugged with Meaning's potion.
Detachment's grace,
Unknown it stays,
Arising queries,
Of existence and being.
Futile a search as any could be
The search shall never be,
With human grasp,
Never to lead to oneness,
Never will a soul end in peace.