Oversoul

We're born beneath furnace fire,
hammers carve us from mire
as the cool air of time molds our skin.
Against our burning souls, churning,
so unlearned, yet we're learning,
as the forge of life shapes us within.
Doleful fathers and sad mothers,
plow our minds, as do others,
and plant human codes in our thought.
Once they bloom, we're now stable,
innocence, a torn cable –
set on earth, a mere fable He wrought.

Author notes

Hmm, I'm not sure how to explain this. I originally wrote it to be about the forging of souls, and how the newly created mind is then, from day one, shaped by other people to fit 'acceptable' forms of thought, standards, morals, etc. Maybe I funked that up. Oh well! It's better to let the reader come to their own conclusion, anyway.
And the rhythm isn't as dumb as it looks or anything, you just need to read it kinda of slow to catch the thumpy, rumbly flow of it.
Written October 18th, 2005