Spirit.

I thought to myself, and to others around.

Where is my spirit? Can it be found?

Could it possibly be within.

Beneath a mask of skin.

Past muscles and organs swimming in red linen

Searching the physical only quickly to find

Where I am led

To unanswered everything’s, curiosity not fed.

Surely I am missing information of some kind.

Where is this spirit, this spirit of mine?

Could it reside in my mind?

Past the thoughts I approve of and those I deny.

Inside of the ether, floating in tar-like dark.

I cannot be sure of this questionable remark.

I conclude it is incorrect to indulge thus far.

Where art thou, spirit which is bound to me.

I look above.

Could it be?

Look there!

Hovering atop my skull and my hair.

Over the buildings and clouds surrounding.

Higher than satellites which mock my grounding.

Past the point which we are told is non finite.

In the unknown of sorts.

I attempt to calm the lids of my eyes.

My curiosity travels off course.

Where could this be?

This feeling I maintain.

Not physical, not easily explained.

Sometimes revealing itself in situations

In love, in religion, in daily occupations.

Sometimes revealed as words from within.

Reminding me of the doubt I hoard in sin.

Where is this thing which I know to be there.

Why can’t I find it? Why do I dare?

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