The darkness of the soul
Is that it cannot speak up
Captive as it is in its cage
It rages against the ribs
The cranium - the very femur
Still we silence it with aspirins
And herbs and little pills of unspeakable names
Bury it under a ton of words and books
And weights - if it was allowed to leave
We couldn’t exist
On Sundays it’s given a reprieve: some help it on Wednesdays
Others with a little mat allow it leeway every few hours
And a few, just a few, pick it flowers and let it have as much air as it needs
Some give it space: others silence from endless thoughts
I write to it now and again
The words flow
Out and flow in
Melodious joy…. the spirit of it all