To Those Who Deny the Soul
The other day, I heard a man
speak that there was no soul.
That neuroscience had proved a negative.
Proved the non-existence of that which cannot be defined.
My soul wept.
My soul longed to reach out to the man,
To touch his soul, his soul which had been wiped into
non-existence, never again to cry in sadness
for no reason over a piece of music, never
again to be inspired or repulsed by a painting
on some museum wall, to never again
feel the urge to throw a couple of coins
into the open case of a busker on the street
playing, "American Pie" for the eighteenth
time that day.
My soul, with its ethereal nature and
independence of consciousness, my soul
will continue to leap for joy at this art which
does not feed our bellies, nor swim upstream to spawn
nor build nests, nor weed out the weakest antelope, nor
spin webs, nor flow forth from springs to dig through mountains
and connect the continents to the sea.