Spirit Cold
By John Herlihy

What is life that it leaves my spirit cold?
What is spirit that it springs from ages old?
What is breath that it gives everything life?
What is soul that it plugs up an empty hole?

How to awaken the residue of a spirit cold,
Wrapped in the chill of a winter, ages old?
How to internalize the morning’s inner glow,
Fresh beginnings with enough room to grow?

These are questions whose answers remain untold;
There is a warrior within me who wants to be bold.
Every inch of my old body seems completely alive;
From head to toe, inner energy wishes to survive.

The scorned hyenas scavenge the carcass of dead hide;
The jackals roam the savannah with a search implied.
The eagle soars heavenward over rural thatched huts;
The squirrel ensures winter survival by gathering nuts.

The breath, soul and spirit within us intertwine,
A physical entity that borders on the sublime.
We inhale life’s challenges its mystery to solve;
We exhale a burning spirit as our souls evolve.

The stars in the heavens may seem close and sharp;
They offer their infinitude as their most telling remark.
My soul creates an identity that seals my destined mark;
Breath inward, soul outward, a spirit in the wind, hark.