The Soul Knows
It Remembers.
It remembers,
unspoken words and whispers,
butterflies and burning fires.
It remembers.
From one lifetime to the next,
it remembers.
Whips and wins,
blessings and sins,
it remembers.
Hiding, mysteriously,
within dark chambers,
still, solace, until stirred.
It remembers.
Springing into vibrant warm summers,
only to fall back into winter's land.
It remembers,
outward stretched hands and cold shoulders,
smiles, frowns, and clowns.
It remembers.
It remembers daily,
without boast or bold,
but there may come a time,
when it reveals,
what is concealed,
in those dark chambers,
hiding, mysteriously, still, and solace,
until stirred, shaken to the core; the peripheral, the inner.
It soars, into light and flies, to unforeseen heights,
reflections of the past,
projecting onto the future,
It remembers.
