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Worry not for that which slumbers
fetal shape curled to hide.
The soul that has no voice for me,
takes my ignorance in stride.

I feel it's tugging, faultless wisdom
but choose instead to trust my mind.
My god of flesh I often wonder
what more in life I'll find.

Wrinkled brow stubborn jaw
at the mention of it's role.
Guide my heart steer the passion,
my unseen rudder consoles.

Light the candle for the dead
I would rather say a prayer.
Acknowledge nothing so unearthly
as a soul without a care.

God I pray with fist of anger
tell me now what lies ahead.
Is the soul I spurn eternal
Or is this flesh as good as dead?

Precious silence, soothing peace
God through soul confirms my fate.
Raging flesh calls for substance
my soul responds with blind faith.

What is this soul that haunts the living?
I beg my God to show its worth.
Soul of man I release my captive,
prepare me now to leave this earth.

Learn more about this author, Farrell Walker.
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