The Soul Poem by Patrick Fealy

The soul grows from the body like a lofty glowing sphere
a diamond or an emerald but it's fluid and it's clear
It sleeps out in the desert where it takes it's best repose
like a baby in a manger safely swaddled in its cloths
The soul is like a bolder that goes crashing to the ground
crushing all resistance to the truth that's all around
It gravitates toward heaven and then back to earth again
echoing the angels as it sings the great amen
The soul is like a planet doing rings around the sun
then down around the mill wheel where the grinding work is done
The soul is fed on tenderness and sips of sacred wine
water from the side of Christ and a piece of the divine
The soul is fond of laughter and of beauty always sure
It marvels at the ladies in their glory so demure
Sometimes it is praying when it's walking on the moon
counting all the stars of night but it never leaves the room
Gliding over continents, traversing raging seas
speaking in a language that could set the captives free
Perfect love compels the soul and drives out all it fears
Quite splendid were the stories of the souls that I did hear