an old soul,
a little crinkled on the edges
covered in the musty scent of a grandmothers attic,
tainted with memories of what has been
and what is yet to be
a free spirit,
drawn by the tug of
the wind
and the water
and the waves beating upon the shore
time and time again
wanting to go
explore
discover
live
the soul fights back a weary sigh
isn't there something better to be doing?
and after all
won't the tide be gone
in just a couple of days?
the slow hiss of air from a deflating balloon
another dream is drowned in maybes
washed away like a finger smudge scrubbed off a window on cleaning day
a constant tug of war
waging on and on
an old soul
a free spirit
a restless heart