Adventurous Soul

It's probably very quiet when the soul leaves,
discreet and uninterrupted.
Possibly laughing as it hovers
eventually realizing its formlessness.
Suddenly leaping to its new cocoon.
A new shell.
Only an adventurous soul would dare.

Some believe we shoot out like a pistol
flying beyond the stars
hastily looking for salvation.
Save me.
RSVP to the angels and saints.
Only the martyrs and good invited.
The sinners united.

The rest of us remain,
tears pouring,
imagining angels weeping.
Celebrating our disappointment,
a real tribute to nonacceptance.
Poignant vignettes of human tragedy,
of men with sweaty palms
and of wasted mascara.

Yet she lies there
no sound she makes,
color on her lips that won't wear-off
neither rubbing or staining.
In that box so confining.
Still smiling.

I know she's an adventurous soul.