#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.

Its pleasures do nourish its lust for a moment,
But when the winds of a clock's tick blow,
They fade like dew at the rising of the sun,
Leaving behind the widening longing,
That calleth to be filled.

The beauty of Life,
is inseparable to its purpose.
when this course is Lost,
The soul mingles helplessly
In the mire of pleasures,
Hoping to free the fog
Of life's entanglements,
Yet deeply waxing up
Till it turns into an unkindlable Lantern
Always waring to illuminate.

by Josum Kapsata.