Soul Talk

The energy within I call soul.
It flows at the rate of a spring
and can also flood,
overpowering,
pushing limits aside;

or a silent pool,
dark in the shadow of trees,
both deep and cold
and naturally unforgiving.

There are aspects that behave as fire
and are not contained,
but, also, no more than a spark
or a thing I bank
like coals to the side in a storm.

Sometimes my soul
takes the form of a cooling breeze;
or can shatter leaves
and tear large trees from their roots;
or can be the breath
drawn direct
from my lover's mouth.

Soul may come out
in the form of black marks on a page,
devouring space,
accumulating to numbers.
Then someone reads
and lets marks on the page fall asunder

as the soul takes hold
and separates quartz from gold
and refines that gold
before bringing it up to the surface

where gold can shine
with a fire that’s potentially violent,
but does not kill
and returns that same gold to the silence
of the deep cold pool,

awaiting someone who will bathe
and emerge a fool,
an eminent distinction of place
in this world's whirlpool.