Direction

Within the fragile human soul
There's space for but a single goal.
Hence all attempts must prove in vain
To pry the blessed thing in twain.

The limbs and mind may part their ways,
And mouth a separate homage pays,
But deep within, a noble aim,
Or else desire for evil's name.

The choice is ours to careful make
And opt the path to onward take.
Then urge the body to conform
That we might weather brewing storm.

The path at times is slow indeed
With hindrance, sweat; with foe, we bleed
For mortal errors we may pay -
The soul, though, points a single way.

Photo Credit: Thomas Pate