Jeffrey Hull

Twenty-one Grams

The soul of a man weighs hardly a thing,
   Just twenty-one grams, it is said:
The weight of the spirit that finally takes wing
   And leaves us the instant we're dead.

The weight of a hummingbird flees at our death,
   A stack of five nickels or so;
It's wafted away on our ultimate breath,
   And wings to its bliss or its woe.

Theresa’s sad spirit weighed slightly less,
   Or somehow John Paul's soul weighed more?
Or won’t a kind Father then equally bless
   All children who come to His door?

If cripples have souls that equal in weight
   The soul of a pope, we averred,
Dare we conclude equal worth is innate:
   Humanity makes this inferred?

Just how we care for the sick and the lame
   Defines us for ill or for good.
Brain-damaged woman, or a person of fame:
   We care for them both, or we should.


© 2005 Jeffrey Hull

im amazed i love poetry and have written many myself and i am fasinated by the thought of 21 grams and hope to find out more!

yours

REX