Soul-searching...

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