The Soul

The soul has its own palace
the soul has its own Taj Mahal
What splendors await us
on the other side

No walls, but gardens
No obstacles to understanding
Your thoughts dovetailing
with mine's

Oh, the soul of Man,
Oscar Wilde, he saw what could come
A society not burdened
by poverty or posesssions

This is your soul,
untrammeled by Time
or earthly things


Or, maybe you're soul
is still in the making,
not fully-formed, your head,

your brain got in the way,
Not child-like as Lord Jesus
advised us to be

Still attached to the castle,
and the drawbridge up
most of the time.

Not person's net worth
over there where the soul
is as free as the antelope.

At least, that's my hope,
and God love me if I'm wrong,
it may all be soulless over there, too.