Categories
Poetry

Soul

Conceit of man,
That need for a reason!

Unknown selfness, essence:
Existent only in heart and mind —

Would you remain soul-shaped
Homed in a cloud, a raindrop,

In a microbe, a tree?
Would I — I, the cloud, the tree — be

The same me? Have the same
Thoughts, doubts, beliefs and loves?

(Oh, sexy cirrocumulus!
My slender pale -skinned birch!)

Will I wonder what happens after,
Seek something greater above the sky?

Will I form some story of creation,
Some reason to grow straight and true, fluffy and white?

Will I know I am a tree, a cloud?

By Chris

Poet and writer: I have travelled the world in the Merchant Navy, worked on the farm where I now live, and re-invented myself as an information scientist. Born in Sussex, I moved to Swansea and have lived in the same farm cottage in mid-Wales for almost 50 years.

I have three collections of poems in print, Mostly Welsh, Book of the Spirit and the recent Lost Time. Although initially entirely focussed on poetry, my writing has branched into short stories and my first full length work of fiction, The Dark Trilogy and the collection of short stories - When I Am Not Writing Poetry - are also available.

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