-- Book of the Soul --

By John Herlihy

The book of the soul stands open on its reading stand,

To facilitate a smooth passage through life of the pages.

Stately narrative of a destined life written by a steady hand,

Calligraphic script ennobles ancient vellum thru the ages.

The infant bawls its outrage as it realizes its sudden arrival;

Its pudgy fists clenched in protest in readiness for its fate.

The virgin territory of its senses its tabula rasa for survival,

Now nestled in arms of its mother, a life to patiently await.

The blissful babe in its wisdom will never fully remember,

The perfection of eternity that it begrudgingly left behind.

The challenge ahead to make its way as a human pretender,

Fully equipped with all the faculties needed within its mind.

Some years go by until the child reaches the age of reason,

Now aware of its surroundings, in its own identity encased.

Sound thinking, logical deduction will pass through its seasons,

Until all memory of heavenly perfection finally to be erased.

The challenge now to recapture the perfection that was lost,

To explore the nature of the self and the world for its faults,

To forge rivers, move mountains, search horizons at all cost,

To unveil all the sublime mystery in the melody of life’s waltz.

Of course, the inner riches of a life are what makes up its heft,

Joys, sorrows and fears of an inner sanctum each person rules.

To give away immortality of our soul would leave nothing left,

Our lives wildly unravelling at its center from its ancient spools.

- - - - - -

(c) John Herlihy 16 April 2019