My Soul Doesn’t Know These Things

When in the void,
I wonder where my soul is.

But venturing into crimson leaves,
or when I walk along a dirt track,
I find it amid nature’s gentle tides.

Peace floods my bones to wash them clean.

Though, when I step indoors,
the screen flickers with politics and disease:

My soul doesn’t know these things.
It shuts them out where they belong.

Wake up, wake up!
I say to my sleeping core.
See the real world go on without you.

But my soul refuses to register the complaint,

It prefers to rest beneath a tree,
or rest by the riverbank.

There,
it melts with the tide and listens to Earth’s music.