To thee, O Life
Many have resorted to thee—
Those that to need of flesh may heed,
And love to call it spiritual—
Quiet that to crave of flesh feed.
Yet, poor little neglected soul
Stays mute though ever insatiate
(The flesh whilst gets forever fed)
In this life for a true soul mate.
Comes then time when the flesh gets old,
And nor in need nor in want is,
Man aware of the need of soul
Late on eve of life, of soul’s bliss.
Just as a lamp tends to burn bright
In last bursts of life’s utter blight.
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Sonnets |08.04.2024|life, love, flesh, soul
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