What is the soul?

Is it the pride you feel

When you're complimented?

Or the tears of joy

As the doctors announce

"It's a boy"?

Or is it the satisfaction you feel

When, as you clock out,

You realize your honest work that day?

Is it the hate you feel

When you see injustice

In its prime?

Or is it the calm

Before you die?

Or maybe the soul in itself

Is twisted and perverse.

Maybe it exists

Merely to be bartered?

Would you give yourself

Mind, body, and soul

To a worthy cause alone?

Or would you sell your soul

For the power over all?

To instill fear

With just a look?

If that is the gift for one's soul,

Should we not fear

The look of a man,

But the true one in control?