Selfometer
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Matter of Man's SoulMan maybe made just of matter
Or
a soul wrapped in calculation
Or perhaps, it's just the latter
But, not
withstanding either
It comes not as a breather
To discern man as a whole Sensed
by his senses
A matter that moves his soul
In the mind's abysses
It doesn't
matter his soul is lost
He must find it at all cost
Ordered by Time To
order his soul Moved along in Space
In a wretched motion
In
the blundering fury of time
In a geometric spatial theatre Echoing,
a cruel display
For man's matter and soul
Nothing matters but the soul of
man
Man is nothing but the soul of matter Similarity,
©April 2007
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