If you were really listening,
you’d hear the whisper of your soul.
Its orchestra would gnaw at the very seed
of your existence and you would answer its call,
if you were listening.
The tongue is a loose cannon,
spitting venom without restraint.
The mind, utter arrogance as we intellectualise
everything, dissect and pull apart things that
don’t need fixing, just to appease the ego.
Oh that ego, incessantly looking for
The heart, I’m tired of its extremes,
either too harsh or too gentle,
too broken or too determined.
The soul, now there is a whisper
worth paying attention to.