Soul of Man

A sacred shrine unvisited

Neglected, hidden from our sight

Nestled in its mystic bed

In the jungle of our day and night,

An icon in a dusty place

Cobweb-filled and left to lie

Forgotten in our frantic pace

To live awhile before we die.

Such is the soul ignored by man

In its pure and timeless state,

With us since the world began,

Witness of our destined fate.

Softly now it wakes our hearts

To other than we believe or see

And calls before this breath departs

To shake the drowse of life's ennui.