#WritcoPoemPrompt94
© Kapsata

The soul keeps on tossing
To and from like a restless tide,
Till it lands on the horn
Of substance that Sails it
To its course of Fulfillment.

Finest tunes doesn't allure it,
Nor a table full of wine and bread.
The choicest of the daughters of men
Doesn't gratify its deep hollow inside.
...