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cecily Aug 14
I wonder what they wonder
These people same my age
I wonder how they think
Is it deep like my depth?

or maybe
I'm just an old soul
trapped in a young body
shout out to all old souls
Risa Njoroge Jun 17
Letters are old school, but I guess so am I.
In a way, I guess that is true,
I sometimes feel like I am an old fool,
Stuck in the Motown groove,

The 21st Century is not for me,
Waiting a minute before I can hear the next song,
And when it eventually comes on it's one filled with hate,
And let’s not even talk about trying to date,

They said to leave a message after a beep,
For my old soul that means a beat,
That brought with it dance and heat,
Words and rhymes and a drumbeat,

See back in my day, a letter meant waiting on the mail man,
And not looking for blue ticks from an app I got from an online store,
It meant post stamps and asking friends to proofread,
It meant punctuating every line so that you knew without you I could not breathe,

Being in love was not just words and play,
It meant dancing in the street; we called it grooving,
Not sweet talking and lying,
The old fool in me is tired of trying,

Am not saying that you are lying,
But you are in no way trying,
To meet me in the street,
Or groove to a Motown beat,

I wish you were sending me flowers,
While you were out there spending time,
With worlds that were not even meant to be real,
My old soul needs more than one-off dines or drinking box wine!

See back in Motown, when a man loved a woman,
He could not keep his mind on anything else,
He did not put a little loving on her, or shelve her
It meant the whole street knew her, and even knew her favorite beat!

I have known only one other of your kind, the sweet-talking guy,
You have me down on my knees wondering when you are going to leave,
That is not love, I don’t know what it is,
Feels like it, but this is something else!
I went ahead ahead an fell in love, but after self searching and listening to a great friend, I realize that maybe this is not love!  
Happy reading!
PrernaK Feb 24
Morning haze,
I wake up
out of words.
I close my eyes,
look for your face
and just like that
a poem emerges.

Prerna K
Disha Bhatia Feb 18
reminds me of you
Old soul in a body that's new.

Missing piece of a jigsaw
Complementing every flaw.

Misty morning, mysterious night
escaping this world in plain sight.

A pair of broken wings
Urging hinged things
to fly, fly, fly away.
Coventore Jan 17
I've been on this journey for far too long.
My vim and vigour long since gone.
So many trials conquered, so many tests,
yet my soul only craves for one final rest.

A world so familiar to a soul so old,
A world full of wonders, a world full of woes.
I dance the twisted dance that many called life,
A dance of joy, yet also a dance of strife.

I've danced the steps many, many times;
This world seems nothing new to me.
Yet I write these words with shifting rhymes,
asking when the end of said dance could be.

My body is young, but my soul is old;
weariness weighs down my fresh bones,
As I write down the story that is being told,
Wondering when I can go home.
To all old souls, indigos and starseeds reading things, are you new here? Or is this world familiar to you? Do you ever feel tired of being here over and over again, and wish to return from whence you came? So do I...
i was born in the wrong time
the wrong day and age
i don't give a **** about making slime
i'm more interested in turning the page

today's music doesn't interest me
the 60s' and 70s' sets me free
but i prefer the jazz of the roaring 20s
i want to party like Nick, Jordan, and Gatsby

i don't like air pods
i prefer my records on vinyl
this life wasn't my decision it was God's
but now his decision is final
Luna Jay Dec 2018
I love the smell of the rain.
Love feeling the release of pain.
Love feeling creative- love creating.
Can’t explain.

Love breaks my heart,
The world falls apart.
Feeling alone, but not set in stone,
Deserving a fresh start.

I’m immaculate with words,
I’m not standing with the herds.
Standing on my own two feet.
Anything else would be absurd.

I wonder where I’ll be,
I wonder what I’ll see.
In a land of grand disappointment,
I’m playing make believe.
Sonia Ettyang Dec 2018
Cloudy skies
Heavy downpour
Cold breeze
Swaying trees
Misty window panes
Traffic lights
Hooting cars
Gushing gutters
Drenched trench coats
Soggy feet
Colourful umbrellas
Crowded shelters
Empty side walks

The city skips a few hearbeats
And comes to a stand still
Soon as the pounding rain stops
Everything returns to normalcy

But rainy days call for
Steaming cups
Slouchy sweaters
Fluffy blankets
Gramophone tunes in the background
Enjoying a little piece of heaven
While the day is washed off
Setting stage for a clean fresh start
©Sonia Ettyang
Lover of rain
Matteo Palermo Sep 2018
I guess I'm just stuck in the old ways of thinking
that true love is still out there.
I know how I feel but I guess you had a different idea
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
To love pales in comparison of being loved,
but to love and be loved in turn?
Truly puissant, indeed.

Though on the thread of life, the ink will spill
but never fades away. Now I see. If all I am
is to be nothing but a memory, the least
I can do is to make it a good one for the
future seeds.
Memory can slip and slide, but these words,
my words, that I have painted will remain.
More excerpts from my poetry book, 'Mythos', that was privately published in the final year of university. Again, it's already copyrighted so no one can take or use it without my permission! Looking at it now, I do see it's potential, so I'm slowly dusting it off. It's basically like my Jasmine Pearls poem...only longer. Oh boy lool
Love you all!
Have a great night/day! ^-^
Lyn ***

© Section from Chapter 'Part VI: Rising Postlude' in 'Mythos' by Lyn-Purcell.
All rights reserved.
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