The soul hears words, yet none are true,
they fade like mist, they shift in view.
Each voice a veil, a fleeting call,
no single sound contains it all.

The soul sees forms in painted skies,
mere shades of truth before the eyes.
Perspectives bend, the mirrors break,
yet still the soul no chains can take.

The soul remains, both still and free,
beyond opinion's trembling sea.
Its silent flame, a guiding breath,
unchanged by life, untouched by death.