Be Still, My Soul

A poem for those who have felt as though they knew very little about themselves.

Be still my soul!
Thy survival, thy fitness,
dependeth not upon thy existence,
but upon thy waiting, upon thy doubts.
Thy swelling notes soareth above thy ability,
but thou hast no courage,
thou hast sole doubt.
Thou and He, He made men’s mouths,
thou sole made it speaketh.
How, then, dost thy brain findeth
a place upon which I hath yet to
step foot?
Speaketh! And be still.
Stepeth forth, and exhale.
Thou dost not knoweth of thy face,
of thy voice—
If thou dost, thou
sayeth not to me of thy wisdom—
and thus, thy face blindeth
my eyes, and I knoweth not of
thy identity.
Be still, my soul—
Be still.