The Soul And The Vessel

Everything on the surface,

On the surface of me,

Is dancing under the spring showers,

The showers of Spring, lost in time.

And as I dance circles around you,

I spiral a little further,

Further into my own being.

They say, "You are not a vessel, you are a soul";

And I wonder if it's the soul,

Wearing out the vessel,

Or is it,

The other way round?

Yet everything on the surface,

Still dances under those silver showers of Spring,

Until the rain again,

Drowns me along the inevitable autumn,

The lonely autumn, seldom when,

The Soul and The Vessel, find each other.

Walking into a mutual quiet,

As if gifting each other,

An endless,

Grey silence.

And all that persists is their unheard heart's beating,

Still latent, existing;

Like the warmth hidden in reverie,

Like the warmth of love, that isn't love yet.

The Soul and The Vessel, they bloom,

From the warmth of that same soil,

From that same chaos,

Not realizing,

They're all they seek.

And I, the spectator, I dance yet again,

To the first glimpse of that hue,

I sing midst their mindless banter.

They quarrel, they weep,

They bleed, they detach.

The Soul roams free, independent of all the seasons it's seen,

Dancing under those showers of Spring,

Somewhere, still lost in time.

And The Vessel waits,

Patiently waits;

As it yearns for them,

To meet again.