Monday, March 31, 2014


The far-off cry of gull drifts on the lowering of day
Another bit of living scrawls its mark on life’s highway
Across Time’s slipping season its successive hours roll
Of dawn to dusk that leads to the unveiling of the soul

What is this Thing harbored within our tents of flesh and blood?
And why did Jesus come to wash it in redemption’s flood?
We cannot touch its bearing or define our inner Whole
Yet, by the Lord's declaring ‘man became a living soul’

Ah, we may sever from ourselves hand, foot or even heart
The soul no one can find though he tears every limb apart
Still, none denies the Hunger reaching beyond our control
For man may feed the body; only God can feed the soul

Desire feasts upon Touch, Taste and what we Hear and See
But it can never quench that place I think the soul must be
Though we may pause in awe to drink from laughter’s little bowl
‘Tis but the quaff that leads to the unveiling of the soul

© Janet Martin


  1. I really this piece...

    thanks for posting it.

    be blessed,

    Sheila Webster

  2. Hi Sheila, thank you so much for your visit and encouragement!


Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!