The Cry of the Soul

The cry of the soul is simple
It is many things
It is the calling out of lovers in an act of desire
It is the man nailed to the cross expiring

The cry of the soul
...
Well, there is the cry of the soul
That perfect animation
Without any necessity
That is born out
That bares consequence.

So the cry of the soul is parthenogenic
A virgin birth
That is what we ask for,
At least that is what we ask for,

The cry of the soul,
Infinitely lonely
Even the cry of passion
Infinitely searching for something
That was something within a something
Empties out
Without cause into the void

This virgin cry,
So often an animal grunt or scream of exaltation
That cry that comes forth

There are so many poems that enter into discussing the void, and cries and exaltation. These calls are now cliches, that visit us, and can only be propelled by the sardonic turn of experience and insight, at how truly ugly we all are!

Still we believe in the beautiful twilight
Still we believe in the mingling of the clouds and sunlight in the air
The vaguest lines and brief crease caresses
Before the dawn, after the sun has set.