Human Soul

A human soul is far too constrained a space,
To nurture love and tend to cold disdain,
Harboring hatred will usher in the reign,
Of those  angels far removed from grace.

Ah sweetness, such lightness of being,
The endless acceptance of joy and praise,
Yet fragile and prone to a sad malaise,
And to a cold and wanton way of seeing.

A human soul is a gifting far too fragile,
At every crack its windows leak in tears,
At every doubt it trembles in its fears,
'Til all hopes are stifled and are futile.

First, the tender words will fail their flow,
And kindnesses become sore endangered,
Fields scorched that once blooming flowered,
Now a place where nothing green can grow.

A  human soul is a gifting beyond measure,
Forged in love —a facet of the face of God,
Both priceless diamond and scurrilous fraud,
Reflecting bright whatever be its treasure.

And when the covenants are all betrayed,
'Tis a dying of the one time verdant canopy,
A state of babel and a rabid  entropy,
The perfect space to be mortally afraid.

My human soul — a place vacated by  amour,
Yet cherished  more than I can understand,
Such is the pity,  for I can be but a man,
Content to be with my Lord and troubadour,

A human soul.