That is the Soul (poem)

In succession,
In division,
In confusion,
We all live.
In parts,
In particles,
In pieces,
We all survive.
Bit by bit,
We see the world,
Both you and I;
But the whole
Of what we see
Of what we are
Of what we will become --
That is the soul.

She gazes ever forward
Building a new world,
Burying the old world.
She is not bound by tradition,
By circumstance,
Or by fate.
She knows only herself.

The tapestry of time,
Woven of memories,
Both dark and light,
Is the gleaming garment
With which she is clothed.

When she speaks,
It is only a whisper
That she alone can hear --
For the voice of the soul
Is far more often
A feeling
An instinct
What is left unsaid,
Rather than the mere exchange
Of empty words.

She is a fortress,
A tower of strength;
Yet she is as vulnerable
As a newborn child.
She is as old as the stars in the sky,
Still, every morning, she is reborn anew.

Worship her,
Nurture her --
Let her be your dearest friend.

For if you do not know
The depths of your own soul,
You are doomed to wander
Aimlessly
Through this wasteland of life
In search of completion,
Fulfillment,
And peace.

Let her lead you to the source
Of all good things - -
For they begin within
The infinite expanse
Of your very own soul.

Christmas in Reverse (sonnet)

It's almost like Christmas, but in reverse.
There are "gifts" to be opened and explored.
Known or unknown, I'm not sure which is worse --
One thing's for certain, I will not be bored!
I wrapped each mem'ry and stowed it away
Because the pain it held was much too great.
The time has come and today is the day --
No more excuses, no more time to wait.
Do I shake each "box" to see what appears?
Do I judge what is inside based on size?
Do I measure the impact based on tears,
Or do I poke and hope with tight-shut eyes?
I must admit, of this I'm most perplexed,
Which "present" shall I choose to open next?