Body Of A Soul

with hands of fire,
and feet of clay,
forming worlds from
insignificant thoughts....

taking moments peeled
from a glance by chance...
forming stars from dust
that come raining down,

echoing in the empty....
for what is not oft is,
each and all have purpose...
when what cant be seen,

cant be held or defined...
given by the spirit that waits
and calls us to our selves;
and that which is finished

begins anew and afresh,
when our journey takes us home!
when hands of fire and feet of clay
inhabits the body of a soul!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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