"What is a soul?"
Science man.

"Only a fantasy."

"How do you know
what you understand?"

"I cannot touch it, taste it, or see it
with my instrumentality.
I cannot weigh a soul,
so it cannot be."

***

"What is a soul?"
O, humanist-seer.

"A dream of hope,
a child's game,
a blanket in
the night we fear."

"Can you prove your words,"
I dared inquire.
He held up thoughts,
circled, interlocked--
a chain of paper, catching fire.

***

"What is a soul,"
I asked a dreamer.

"The sum of self,
a silver star,
in cosmic hands."

How can you know?"
I challenged his certainty.

"What other part of self has need
to question eternity?"