Old Soul


Desperate, down, and destitute, falling without parachute, A little boy who hurts inside, Searches for what in him died. He used to laugh and dance and sing, And during pain, he'd feel the sting- But now he feels completely hollow, Aside from the numbing sorrow. What he can't feel, how could he share? He hears no voice that says to care. Now and then, he cries in anger, Sometimes, madly laughs at danger. He can't wrap his head around
Where his joy could now be found.
He can't tell disdain from laughter,
Nor does he know what he's after.
He never should've felt so cold,
A weathered man at five years old.
He never should've had to mourn
This loss of love that left him torn.
Little hands shake as his voice cracks,
He's begging to god "bring her back".
He doesn't understand what's wrong,
Just that his mother is gone. He can hear her loving tone, and see her blue eyes how they shone, But he no longer feels her love, Only hatred for above.
He screams to god "my mommy's mine, Don't take her, please, it's not her time!" He takes the silence as a token, Then lives on with his heart broken. He never should've felt so cold,
A dying man at five years old. He never should've had to mourn This loss of love that left him torn.

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