The old soul surprises us all.
In that faint glimpse of something, something we can't quite figure out.
The old soul.
Persistent yet beautiful
Surprises us all.

The old soul is battered and torn in ways, we can't quite understand.
Time it seems is against us
The hour-glass, the sands, the small specs have slipped through our fingertips
It is cancerous, the biological clock, tick tock, tick tock.
The old soul; she is weak

Yet we judge the old soul.
Appearances are decieving, personalities are changed when pushed.
Pushed beyond the limits of our minds.
The cracks hidden in our faces show are real intentions.
Yet the old soul, knows nothing of evil.

I am envious of the old soul.
For she has lived life as pure as one can be.
Living life as one would see fit, not forced, not tamed.
Brusied and tested for the years.
Old Soul has lived life her way.
Free and uncontrolled.

The Old Soul
You are true
and I cannot shake how envious I am of you.
You are beautiful and one can desire to be like you.