This was a late night attempt at poetry, but it really speaks to how I feel sometimes.
An Old Soul
Some have told me before that I have an
I have always been confused as to
What that means, but I am beginning now to
I once believed it to be a compliment on some sort of
Wisdom beyond my years.
I was impressed by this and took it as a deep honor.
Yet, now I have encountered in various forms
Those few I would consider to be
And through these encounters have learned more about myself.
Whether through conversation in smoke filled rooms, or
The wonder of literature,
I feel a connection to these that reaches far beyond the confines of
Space and Time.
This connection assures me that they are in fact
Yet also hints toward the fact that I too am aged.
I have seen one score and one year, yet I feel much
Many would laugh and think this is the misgiving of a youth who
Doesn’t understand longevity.
My life has been full of more blessings than I could
And I will not pretend that
It could not have been worse.
Yet the age I feel goes beyond any count of years.
Socrates was undoubtedly an
Three score and ten years did he live and breathe and think.
And although his sentence was firm, he could have chosen
Yet, I think I could live twice as long as he
And I would not feel any different than I do now.
I feel weary of this world and this existence.
Not sad or depressed of my corporeality,
I have long struggled with my destiny and what the
Holds for me.
However, I now feel like my future is unclear because I am
Looking backwards instead of forwards.
Not longingly or regretfully,
But like one remembers places once visited or roads once traveled.
I don’t know, yet I suspect, that this is how Socrates felt when
He chose the hemlock.
What happens when an
Becomes weary of travelling the same roads?
When you feel your time wandering is drawing to a close regardless of
Any measure of success or failure.
Marcus Aurelius wrote that time is a river whose flow is ever
Yet, what happens when your youthful body becomes
With the feeling that you have ridden the length of the river
Over and over again?
These are not the desperate or suicidal ponderings of the depressed,
But the earnest queries of one who doubts that even the solace of
Can bring any rest for a weary
Such a simple yet so often misunderstood word.
Many have written of it and more desire it,
But few can truly give it
I will not make such an attempt but will only say that
While there may never be any
For being more weary of the world than one’s age allows,
Is the only thing that makes the age of your soul
No matter how Love crosses your path,
Don’t let it pass you by
And never let it go.
Yet, at the same time,
Remember that crucifixion is the
Ultimate price of Love.
There is not much more to say that can be said.
Maybe the true sign of being an
Is when you feel like there is so much you need to
Share with the world
But you can’t.
Not out of an arrogant desire to prove your wisdom
But out of some desire to validate your journey as meaningful.
Yet, you can’t.
Not merely because no words are enough to express true meaning,
But that something deeper within holds you back.
Keeps you from speaking from the only
You cannot escape.
The fear of ruining
Yours cannot be regained although you know in your
That you would not want it back though its price was
More than you ever agreed to.
Yet, though your very being begs you to release
Your innermost feelings and emotions to
Save the world from itself,
You cannot even force the words out.
The world has the capability to save itself.
But it has to make that choice itself.
An Old Soul.
I still am not convinced I know
What that means.
I am more persuaded that
I may never know.
Some say I have one.
I am beginning to believe them.