Poetry is our heart, our spirit, our soul. Call it whatever; without it, everything else is nothing but hardware.
Language achieves soul only when it's applied as a tool, used by those who imbue it with what they have had the courage and honesty to perceive and feel.
The body knows no pain, not like the soul. At least a nerve has limits, a body part a name. But the soul... the soul... There is no bandage - even crying is in vain.
How do we define consciousness, or what has been called the human soul or the spirit, if it can't be quantified as matter or a particle?.. It can be quantified or observed just by a process of elimination.