Mind

Churning, turning darkened sphere
Yearning, burning cannot hear
The truth of Nature in its ear
Searching ever in the fear
Of dreaming demons coming near
Tired of quiet, tired of noise
It withers wear'ly of the choice
Tween good and evil, twins in voice

Spirit

On certain days a cool wind blows
And I remember younger days
Of thought that pressed on mind
A certain tingling feel
That thrilled the soul,
That child-like thing
More innocent than we can be
Who is sad or happy
And feels all of truth
But knoweth not a thing.