What are we
But sappy souls
What is it that we do?
We search, we love, we feel
An attraction to accomplishment
We chase the ambiance
Held by conscience and gravity alone
We are souls.
Breakable, Achable souls
Love may be the cure
A provisional poison for my hurting heart
But the soul, no
For the soul has no contentment
It is bitter and unsatisfied
And much like hunger.
For today I feel as though nothing will feed my soul
It is alone and cold
And perhaps hopeless
Who will save our souls?
I should pray that the cross would hold mine up again
For I fear for the souls of the world
With but a few hopes left to comfort them.