Soul

What is the soul but a tapestry woven with memories as old as the universe,
A dance of desires in the forest of our being,
Where the wind of our breath whispers its truth?

Does it linger in the fleeting moments
Before sleep's embrace, in the silence of night,
Or does it drift, timeless, unbound by earthly chains?

I fear my soul will wander, lost among stars,
In endless toil across alien lands,
And it will again, for the millionth time, long for what was always mine, 
Waiting, forgotten, in some distant time and place.