O’ Soul Inspires, yet the mind is in ire

When we wake up, we see the sun,
Golden and effervescent;
Gleaming gladly with a smile at our bare faces,
We shine in brilliance.
Trying to shake things off to ignore the circumstances of
Everyday life,
We go on and prepare to get rid of the strife.
As our minds churn ideas, our heart reaches to our soul, for the thing,
That inspires man, is that which is within itself.
An enigma, a folly, a jovial muse!
Neither a mess nor thing to misuse;
We shine bright, like a light, ignoring all past blights,
But as a new idea rises, one descends.
Like us when an idea lives, it dies, for the day anything comes into,
Being it starts to die, perishing slow and only remembered as a carving.
The carving that is all memory, all love, all joy.
O' but if the reader of this did not comprehend this message,
They too lay dead.
For a person, without the drive of the mind and the
Inspiration of the soul,
Truly is perished, a dead thing cast unto the land,
Tainting to the hand, and an unknown reversed birth, unto the Earth…

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