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 forget

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.